


Trip Switch

by charlie_c



Category: Guild Wars 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Rewrite, Gen, Guild Wars 2 Living World, Guild Wars: Heart of Thorns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-02 16:41:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 37,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11513337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlie_c/pseuds/charlie_c
Summary: Conlaeth deals with the fallout of her actions as Pact Commander in the Maguuma Jungle, and faces down some very real ghosts from her past.---There were still a few familiar faces in the city, but ‘familiar’ didn’t necessarily mean ‘friendly,’ and it hardly seemed to her like that should be enough to hold her there, when everything of consequence, from two separate chapters of her life, had been so wholly stripped away. And yet, the city spoke to a shared experience, something deep in the back of her mind that felt familiar. They were the same, perhaps, burned down and rebuilt, and even with the same roots and the same bones, circumstances had polished them both into something beyond recognition.





	1. Chapter 1

**1316 - _Sanctum Harbor, Lion's Arch_**

The floorboards creaked under Su Qinhe’s heavy boots as the woman walked a circuit around the cabin, eyeing every trophy and piece of furniture as if she expected any one of them would prove to be a clever trap. Conlaeth allowed her to make her inspection for a while before eventually saying, “You can sit, you know. I promise you’re perfectly safe aboard the _Splitblade_. ”

Su finally paused, and met her eye with a cold glare. “I’m sure you’ll understand if I don’t take your word for it. Your ship’s developed a bit of a reputation for _killing_ its captains.”

“Well then it’s lucky for _you,”_ Conlaeth replied, smiling evenly, “that she’s _my_ ship.”

Su gave a dry and unimpressed chuckle, but she halted her inspection all the same and crossed the floor to stand before the low table at which Conlaeth had seated herself. “So tell me what you want,” she said, without any trace of preamble.

“Not a fan of pleasantries, are you,” Conlaeth mused, sitting forward and folding her hands upon the table’s surface. “I can respect that, saves me some trouble. Then I’ll be upfront: I think our interests may be intersecting in a way that’s unsustainable.”

“No, try again.” Su crossed her arms and gave Conlaeth a bored look down her nose. “You can do better than that.”

Conlaeth hesitated a moment, a scowl settling over her features as she held the human’s gaze. She revised her statement, quickly abandoning her diplomatic facade. “Your barbaric operation is interfering with my business and I don’t appreciate it.”

“I could say the same for you,” Su said, hardly missing a beat.

 _“What?”_ Conlaeth blurted with a laugh colored more by disbelief than humor. “I don’t see how. The _Splitblade_ has been operating throughout the Sea of Sorrows for over ten years, and-”

“And _you’ve_ only been at the helm for two of them, and then only on a technicality,” Su cut in. She spread her arms in a gesture encompassing the entirety of the captain’s cabin as she added, “you don’t get to inherit someone else’s legacy and then act like you earned it.”

Conlaeth opened her mouth, then quickly shut it again as she fought her immediate impulse to argue. She did her best to ignore the satisfied glint in Su’s eyes when she failed to defend herself, and instead she tried to redirect the conversation. “Listen, I didn’t arrange this meeting to debate work ethics with you. Our relationship doesn’t need to be contentious.”

“I’m not interested in an alliance.”

Again Conlaeth had to check herself before reacting. She took a slow breath through her nose, consciously working against her own temper, and said slowly, “you don’t even know what I’m proposing.”

“Of course I do.” Su rolled her eyes, moving a few paces away to inspect their surroundings again, though this time it was with a leisurely and disinterested air. “You strike a deal, let me carry on as long as I cut you in on the profits, and when you’re sure that arrangement is stable you start kicking your own work down to me, weasel some loyalty out of my crew, and push until I either fold or you edge me out of my own command. I’m not. Interested.”

“Su I’m not looking to steal your little resale scheme out from under you,” Conlaeth insisted, leaning back and resting her elbows on the arms of her chair. “I’m more than happy to stay out of your way, but you’ve sacked at least four ships that I relied on to keep things moving smoothly, and you have cargo that belongs to me. Return it, keep your hands off my network, and we won’t have any problems.”

“No.” Su paused for only a second to let her response sink in, but before Conlaeth could say anything else she continued, “I have exactly zero reason to defer to you, sprout. You may have a few weak-kneed Lionguard officers looking the other way, but you’re sadly mistaken if you think I’m going to bend under the same charm and idle threats. If you’re going to try to stake a claim, then _deserve_ it.” She crossed back through the space and leaned forward, bracing her hands on the table and narrowing her eyes. “Take your business elsewhere, or learn to protect your people. But don’t waste _my_ time.”

Silence settled heavy between them for a long moment. The _Splitblade_ groaned against its moorings and the muffled voices of people on the docks could be heard beyond the hull. Finally Conlaeth rose to her feet, straightening herself to her full height and smoothing her coat as she donned a smile that belied the reality of their conversation. “Fair enough. I’m sure you’re very busy, Captain, I appreciate you taking time out to speak to me,” she said, stepping around the table and toward the cabin doors. She pushed them open and continued, “I’m sorry we couldn’t reach an agreement. Sulaman will see you back to the _Defiant.”_

Su regarded her with silent suspicion for a moment before she laughed. “You’re a gracious host,” she said, throwing Conlaeth an elaborate bow that mocked the sylvari’s cordial attitude, “but you can keep your escort.” As she passed Conlaeth, taking the very clear invitation to leave, she dropped her voice below what anyone up on the deck would hear, adding, “and I suggest you learn your place quickly.”

 

_-//-_

**1328 - _Fort Marriner_  
**

Conlaeth leaned forward, folding her gloved hands on the table in front of her. Even this small motion, the accompanying creak of wood and leather, and the loaded silence that followed it, seemed too loud, too physically present in the stillness of the high-ceilinged conference room of Fort Marriner.

It was a convenient and central location, of course, and a logical place for several high-profile military officials to meet in relative safety, but Conlaeth had to wonder if that was the only reason behind calling her here. It was exactly the kind of strategic move she would have made in their position, after all--a subtle but clear reminder of who she still ostensibly answered to.

She had been in no rush to dignify their proposition with a response, but no one else would speak again until she said her piece. Finally she deigned to break the silence. “This is a joke,” she said bluntly.

“I assure you Commander, it is not,” Wynnet Fairhaired replied readily.

The slightest hint of a wry smile tugged at the corner of Conlaeth’s lips, but she kept her expression as neutral as possible. “No, it is,” she insisted. “You do realize what you’re saying, right? I did exactly what was asked of me, and what? I’m being _discharged_ for it?”

“No,” Doern Velazquez and General Soulkeeper hurriedly protested at the same time, then exchanged a pointed look before Soulkeeper elaborated, “we have no plan to forcibly expel you from the Pact or the Vigil.”

Conlaeth studied her silently for a moment, but the charr’s expression remained admirably unreadable, betraying nothing. “With all due respect, General, you must think I’m very stupid,” Conlaeth said slowly, before shifting her gaze in turn to the other two figures at the table. “I would appreciate if you didn’t patronize me. I know what you _want_ , you’ve been edging me out of Pact business ever since I came back, so at least tell me why. I _did_ it. I stopped Mordremoth--and at _great personal risk_ , I might add,” she interrupted herself, straightening slightly in her chair. “Trahearne’s little stunt with the fleet didn’t exactly leave me a lot to work with-” a ripple of discomfort passed through the room at the mention of the late Marshal, and Conlaeth finally had the moment of clarity she was demanding. “Ah,” she said, leaning back with a smirk. “This isn’t about the dragon.” When no one immediately responded she unfolded her hands, spreading them out on the table, and pressed, “well go on. Make your accusations.”

“No one here is officially accusing you of anything,” Velazquez said with a practiced formality.

Conlaeth raised her brows doubtfully. “No?”

“No. But some concerns have arisen over the alleged events at Dragon’s Stand.”

“You can _ask_ what happened at Dragon’s Stand, there were five witnesses,” Conlaeth pointed out, quickly losing patience.

“We know how to conduct an investigation, Commander,” Soulkeeper growled, and Conlaeth thought she sounded equally eager to be done with this business. “We spoke to everyone who was present, only two of them seemed entirely confident in your actions.”

“Not to mention they’re both…” Wynnet began, before seeming to reconsider her comment mid-sentence.

Conlaeth didn’t have to reach far to guess who had backed her. “What? They’re both sylvari? Both criminals? Go ahead Magister, why don’t you finish that thought?”

“The _point_ is,” Soulkeeper continued quickly, keeping her attention dutifully focused on Conlaeth although her fur bristled in frustration, “it’s your word against that of your allies. According to their reports they were led to believe that you could contain the threat by entering Trahearne’s mind, and yet you still cut the Marshal down rather than make any attempt to save him.”

“Because we were _wrong,”_ Conlaeth asserted, unconsciously balling her hands into fists before her. “Trahearne had already succumbed to the corruption, killing him was a necessary sacrifice to stop more damage from being done.”

“That is the other side of the story, yes,” Velazquez conceded. “However I think it stands to point out that with Marshal Trahearne dead, the logical next in line to command the Pact i-”

“-Is me. _Yeah.”_ Conlaeth leaned forward again, eyeing the human man closely. He seemed the most collected, his arguments the most rehearsed and carefully planned. She wondered if he had orchestrated this whole coup. “And frankly? I’m the best choice. But I spent those months in the jungle trying to _find_ Trahearne. If I wanted to be at the helm of this sinking ship I could have called off the search at any time and saved myself a _lot_ of fucking trouble.”

Soulkeeper cut in with another rumbling growl. “Unfortunately that changes nothing,” she said. Conlaeth scoffed, but the General plowed on before she could interrupt. “We can’t pass on the position of Marshal to the person who dealt the _killing blow_ to the last one, not with this level of uncertainty surrounding the situation.”

Conlaeth hesitated, forcing herself to really digest what Soulkeeper was saying despite the fact she could feel her temper fraying faster than she could reign it back. She grimaced as understanding settled over her. “And you can’t promote someone past me unless you want to explain to people that you think I murdered the Marshal _but_ you’re still keeping me on as Commander.” The General’s long ears flicked in wordless distaste, but no one tried to tell Conlaeth she was wrong. “And what if I refuse to step down?”

“If I can speak plainly, Commander,” Velazquez began--ignoring Conlaeth’s muttered response of “ _please,”_ \--”we’re giving you the chance to walk away from this debacle with your reputation intact. But if you want to obstruct efforts to rebuild the Pact, we-”

Conlaeth interrupted him with a humorless bark of laughter. “ _I am the Pact,_ ” she spat, slamming her hands down on the table as she rose abruptly to her feet. Both Wynnet and Soulkeeper spoke up in protest, but she raised her voice over theirs without missing a beat. “I was at the forefront against Zhaitan, _I_ shot it down over the Sea of Sorrows. I scraped your forces back together in Maguuma even while half the people I was trying to _save_ wouldn’t take orders from a sylvari, I fought Mordremoth on its own turf and _I_ made the call no one else wanted to make. And you’re going to throw me to the wolves for the sake of _politics?”_

Velazquez waited for a moment, then went on almost as if she hadn’t spoken, “if you obstruct our efforts, even if we can’t prove what happened at Dragon’s Stand one way or the other, we will find a reason to have you officially discharged.” He stopped as if to consider his next words, though he could just as easily have been pausing for effect. “Given your history,” he added pointedly, “it wouldn’t be difficult.”

Conlaeth took a sharp breath in through her nose as she shot a withering glare across the table at him, then turned it on the others. “Magister? General?” She said through gritted teeth, barely managing to contain her outrage. “Do you have anything to _add?”_

“I’m sorry it came to this, Commander,” Soulkeeper offered quietly. Wynnet only fidgeted uneasily.

“Then you should have trusted me.” Conlaeth straightened, squaring her shoulders as she took a step away from her abandoned chair. “Fine. I can play this game.  Consider this my official announcement of resignation from the Pact. You can strip me of my title, my authority, whatever helps you all sleep at night. Ruadhain has been acting leader of my squadron for almost a year now, General, I think it’s high time you promoted her to Warmaster.” She mustered a smile, though there wasn’t an ounce of warmth or sincerity behind it or the words that accompanied it. “I wish you all the best of luck. I hope you don’t live to regret this.”

 

-//-

  **1316 - _The Crow's Nest Tavern_  
**

“I'm not suggesting anything, I'm just saying sometimes a, hm... a _sudden change_ is the only viable option.”

Aili frowned, visibly unconvinced. “Is that what happened to Forrest?” she remarked. “A ‘sudden change?’”

Conlaeth’s immediate response was simply a wordless smile. “His death was unfortunate, and it came as a shock to everyone,” she said, by now a rote response to all questions regarding the death of Captain Forrest Kincaid. “But that's neither here nor there. You don't have to take my word for it.”

“Well, I rather think I do, but you haven't exactly given me a lot of reason to trust you.”

“Oh Aili.” Conlaeth leaned forward, bracing her elbow on the table as she plucked a wedge of potato off the human’s plate and took a bite. “I don't remember ever asking you to _trust_ me,” she chuckled. “This is Lion’s Arch, after all, it’s not the place for trust. But you're not _blind,_ you said yourself if something isn't done someone's going to suffer for it.” She finished the potato wedge and helped herself to a second one.

“You're putting words in my mouth.”

Conlaeth chewed pensively for a moment, then gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Alright,” she said, shrugging and standing to leave. “I just know why you left the _Splitblade,_ I wouldn't expect you to settle for being kicked around like a dog just because the ship is bigger. It was good seeing you again, you should stay in touch.”

 

-//-

 

Life outside the Pact would be… an adjustment, and not one Conlaeth was entirely certain she was prepared to make. It had been nearly a decade since she first enlisted with the Vigil, under the oath to rid Tyria of the elder dragons, and longer still since she had first become accustomed to the idea of belonging to--and indeed, leading--something bigger than herself. Now, with her title and command revoked only days ago, she already feared the thought of drifting uncertainly. She could do her best to keep one finger on the pulse of strange events occurring in the far-flung corners of the world, but without any forces of her own to mobilize there would be very little she could do except notice, and wait for something more dire to happen. Perhaps, she thought, if Tyria was sufficiently threatened then General Soulkeeper would see reason and change her mind. But until that happened, she was an unmanned vessel on an open ocean.

Somheirle had at least given her an excuse to linger in Lion’s Arch, in the form of a slightly frantic letter insisting she meet with him at their earliest mutual convenience, and while she had waited for that she had taken to walking the city’s roads, doing her best to retrace familiar paths that had not existed for some time. Lion's Arch had lost a great deal of the luster and appeal it once had, now that it rested firmly in the hands and wallets of the Consortium, but even as she stood staring out across the harbor, surrounded by polished white walls where there had once been the makeshift warrens of grounded ships, sentimentality still sat heavy in her chest like a sleeping animal. The people here were much the same as they had been before the city’s destruction, as they had always been--moving quickly, talking boisterously, working doggedly. Conlaeth had kept out of their way, and as the platform she had staked out overlooking the bay began to empty of workers and civilians she leaned over the low wall, loosening a flaking pit of plaster. She watched as it tumbled downward, until she lost sight of it against the deepening shadows of the water below.

There were still a few familiar faces in the city, but ‘familiar’ didn’t necessarily mean ‘friendly,’ and it hardly seemed to her like that should be enough to hold her there, when everything of consequence, from two separate chapters of her life, had been so wholly stripped away. And yet, the city spoke to a shared experience, something deep in the back of her mind that felt familiar. They were the same, perhaps, burned down and rebuilt, and even with the same roots and the same bones, circumstances had polished them both into something beyond recognition.

As the streets around her fell silent, everyone either settling in or moving on to the parts of the city that came alive at night, the quiet became somehow overbearing. There was nothing unnatural about it--she could still hear the water quietly lapping against the docks, the distant sounds of merriment somewhere in the city’s heart. Overhead, a restless gull scrabbled against a roof before lifting off into the night. Yet still, something in the night stillness disquieted her.

“Captain?”

Conlaeth flinched at the sound of Somheirle’s voice behind her, partly out of surprise and partly at his choice of address. She had never quite been able to break him of that habit, even after the _Splitblade_ was years in the past, but the reminder didn’t usually sting quite so much. She glanced over her shoulder as he approached and idly waved him down. He seemed equally antsy as he arrived at her side, looking back the way he had come before scanning their immediate surroundings, though they were by now very much alone. “You look like Balthazar’s hounds themselves have your scent,” she remarked, turning to face him and leaning her hip against the wall.

“Well, no,” Somheirle said, finally settling his attention on her, “but they might have yours.”

Conlaeth narrowed her eyes, waiting an expectant beat for him to continue, before prompting, “would you care to elaborate?”

“Hmm,” Somheirle chewed his lip uncertainly, his gaze darting away from her and out over the water. “Alright, so, I don’t have a lot of solid information yet and I don’t want to alarm you-”

“Well you’re doing a shit job of that, then.”

Somheirle laughed, weak and reedy, and took a moment to center himself again. “Alright. Yes. The facts.” He took in a breath, then delivered the rest of the information in a rush, as if fearing further interruption. “Several former members of the _Splitblade’s_ crew have been found dead, with strong indications that they were _all_ murdered.”

Conlaeth blinked, tried and failed to form a response in her mind as she was momentarily rendered speechless by the unceremonious reveal. _Several..._ She ran through a mental list of the people she still knew were alive, wondered how any of them could be careless enough to get _murdered_. There wasn't one of them who deserved it, she thought, as a knot began to form in her chest, but an instant later the other implication of the news hit her. “You think I'm a target,” she breathed, staring wide-eyed at Somheirle.

“I… I think it's a real possibility,” he agreed.

“Fine,” Conlaeth laughed, though the confidence felt slightly forced even to her, “if they want to challenge a dragon killer… I'll…” her attention was pulled back to the water’s edge off to their left, where the dense housing dropped off abruptly into sand and scrub. Someone was coming their way. As she stared, the figure met her eye, and a wave of undefinable dread crashed over her.

“Sonny, I think you should go,” she said, even as her perception seemed to shift a moment later and the form was no longer there. She scanned the road, the water’s edge, even turned a desperate eye up to the nearby roofs, wondering frantically what she had seen.

“Oh- Captain I’m sorry, I know this can’t be easy to-”

 _“No._ No. Sonny,” she pinned him under a hard stare. “You need to go. _Now_.” That time her intent seemed to come through, as Somheirle took one startled step back, then turned and disappeared down a winding street without another word. Conlaeth exhaled slowly, allowing herself a moment of relieved satisfaction.

“That was uncharacteristically kind of you.”

Conlaeth recognized the voice instantly, and though she hadn’t heard it in eight years, it chilled her insides to ice. She turned to greet the figure, now standing at the far side of the platform in a clear pool of moonlight. She was not surprised, really, in the way that perhaps she should have been, but the dread from earlier returned in full force, now with a clearly identifiable source. Conlaeth breathed slowly, willing the fear out of her expression and voice.

“Hello Su.”

 

-//-

  **1317 - _The Grand Piazza_  
**

It took Conlaeth a moment to realize she had company. Aili had fallen into step beside her as they crossed the long rope bridge, but she did not immediately speak. Then as a charr bustled past them going the other way Aili said simply, “you've been talking to my crew.”

“I talk to a lot of people,” Conlaeth pointed out.

“You know what I mean,” Aili spat back. She glanced momentarily over her shoulder before continuing, “some of them are starting to complain. There's been whispers of mutiny.”

Conlaeth tossed her an easy smile. “What makes you think that has anything to do with me?”

“Oh _please,_ I'm-” Aili scoffed, before faltering nervously and lowering her voice. “I'm not stupid. Someone's been feeding them ideas, their arguments are far too well rehearsed for anything they thought up on their own."

Conlaeth laughed. “Well, that's a fine way to talk about your crew.”

The crowd around them thinned as they moved into the open space of the central plaza, and Aili’s voice dipped even lower. “They're _good_ people. I don't know what you're playing at but you're going to get a lot of them killed.”

Conlaeth slowed to a stop, standing in the cool shade of Lion's Arch’s famous--if rather on the nose--lion statue. “Talk to me, Zhang. What's really wrong?” she asked, a note of genuine concern in her tone as she pointedly ignored the accusation. “If you don't mind my saying, you seem uneasy.”

Aili weighed her words carefully before she spoke again. “Captain Su has been… on edge, sees schemes in everything. I'm doing my best to mediate but if she hears I've been talking to _you_ **\--** gods, I shouldn't be telling you any of this.”

“Is she really that insecure? That paranoid?” Conlaeth crossed her arms, frowning as she made a show of considering the situation. “Sounds to me like maybe your crew's concerns are well founded.”

She watched realization spread across Aili’s face slowly, only to be quickly replaced by disgusted outrage. “You scheming _snake!_ What are you so-”

Conlaeth silenced her with a raised hand and a reprising click of her tongue. “You know there are only two ways this can play out from here, and only one of them ends well for you. Play your cards right and the Splitblade might... _coincidentally_ be in a position to help.”

“But why?” Aili demanded. “What do _you_ gain from this?”

“I imagine everyone could benefit from removing a violent and unhinged predator from the waters.”

Aili didn't respond right away. She took a long, slow breath, though it did little to settle her very obvious frustration. “What did you have in mind?”

Conlaeth raised her brows in an overt performance of disbelief. “Me? Zhang, this has nothing to do with _me.”_ Then, quieter and more confidentially, “you know our routes. Why don't you do some of the work yourself.”

 

-//-

 

Conlaeth’s mind connected the dots quickly. “So you’ve been cutting down the _Splitblade_ ’s crew.”

Su shifted slightly, but did not move any closer yet. The cold moonlight cast her features in stark shadows, making a grim mask of her face. “The ones I could find, yes.”

Anger flared in Conlaeth’s chest and for just a moment she forgot her fear. “ _Why?”_ she demanded. “What were you after? What did you want, my _attention?_ There were easier ways to get it.”

Su chuckled, cold and cruel. “If I wanted your attention, _Captain,_ I promise you this wouldn’t be the first you were hearing about it.” She took a step forward, then a second, and Conlaeth had to consciously stop herself from retreating in response. “Mostly it was about personal satisfaction… Except Sulaman. That time I just wanted to see your reaction.” Conlaeth’s breath caught in her throat and her stomach turned. Somheirle hadn’t had a chance to tell her _who_ had been killed, but she had been desperately trying to convince herself that Indira would be too resourceful to be among them. Su’s laughter cut into her thoughts again, and she refocused to see that the woman had advanced closer. “Now I think it’s time you and I settle up.”

In one smooth motion she drew both a rapier and parrying sword from their places at her hip, and Conlaeth was painfully aware of how ill-equipped she was for a fight, in only her street clothes and without a single weapon of her own. This time she allowed herself to take a few steps back, angling herself toward the open area of the platform where she would be less likely to trip over the crates and barrels, rigging, and other residue of the day’s work. “You wouldn’t assault an unarmed civilian, would you?” she ventured, holding out her empty hands in demonstration.

“Did I ever do anything in my life to make you believe that?” Su shot back, and without waiting for a response she lunged forward, jabbing at Conlaeth with deadly aim. Conlaeth only barely dodged out of the way, but that first strike ripped through the loose material of her shirt to leave a deep gouge in her arm, and she was still trying to find her footing as Su continued to press her back, moving with greater speed and agility than seemed possible. Even when Conlaeth found a moment to dart away and put some distance between them, Su closed that distance in the blink of an eye, the air around her swirling with energy that seemed to both burn and chill when it touched the skin.

With a start Conlaeth realized that she knew this technique. Even with some stylistic variance, she recognized the same methods she had developed for manipulating the Mists.

She knew immediately that there was no way she would survive this encounter unarmed, and as she ducked away from another incoming strike she worked fast, shifting her concentration out to the air around her left hand. It all happened in the breadth of a fraction of a second--she combed the air until she found the frayed edges of reality, then she dug her fingers in and took hold, let the energy spark and arc up her arm and through her. She wrenched it forward, felt the world rip as she twirled the rift around herself like a cloak, catching Su’s extended arm in the process. The rift snapped shut in a wave of force just as quickly as it had appeared, slicing through the woman’s flesh and sending her off-hand blade--hand still wrapped around the hilt--clattering harmlessly to the cobbled ground several feet away as Su roared in outrage. Conlaeth wasted no time falling back, diving for the sword and only barely processing that the severed hand had dissipated into ashy smoke as she grabbed the weapon and regained her footing. She stood primed to fend off another attack, but her caution was apparently unfounded. Su stood motionless, eyes fixed on Conlaeth and wide in disbelief, as the hand she had lost just moments ago reformed at her side.

“That’s a nice trick,” Conlaeth remarked, gesturing to Su’s empty hand with the tip of her newly liberated sword.

“How… how did you…”

Conlaeth couldn't help herself. She burst into a peal of triumphant laughter. “Oh I wonder, is that the same face you made standing on the shores of Southsun, watching _your ship_ sail away without you? Under _my_ flag?”

Su's only response was an outraged howl as she rushed forward again and dissolved into smoke an instant later. This time Conlaeth was ready. She mimicked her opponent's movement, followed the still raw edges of the rift she had made until it pulled her in, dragged her out of Su’s path to rematerialize a safe distance away. Su wheeled around, eyes alight with fury.

“ _How!?”_ she demanded. “That shouldn't be _possible!”_

Conlaeth beamed, unconcerned with hiding her satisfaction at the sudden turn. “Oh Su,” she cooed. “It's been _years_ , you really think you're the only one who's learned some things?” As if to demonstrate she flicked her wrist and a wave of force tore through the air ahead of her. Su's form collapsed just as easily as the rest of reality, but an instant later Conlaeth was raising her sword, retreating backward as she fended off another flurry of jabs and strikes. Then her heel hit something solid and she threw her arm back to steady herself, only to meet empty air as she realized she was teetering over the low wall overlooking the bay. Su darted forward and grabbed a fistfull of her shirt. Conlaeth expected that to be the end of it, that Su would simply send her plunging into the ocean below, but instead the woman threw her bodily to the side, where she collided with a pile of crates and netting and crumpled to the ground. Su closed the distance between them slowly as Conlaeth grabbed for the sword that had slipped from her grasp and scrambled back to her feet. She fought to steady her breath as she leveled the blade in front of her and braced herself, but Su stopped inches away from the sword’s tip, letting it hover right at her chest.

“Where’s that cocksure smile of yours now? Are we finally taking this seriously?” she asked. Conlaeth scowled but she refused to entertain her opponent with an answer. “How do you really expect this to end?” Su pressed. “How do _you_ end this? Do you think we’re equal? Evenly matched? Just because you figured out how to pull at the edges of reality a bit?”

Constance tightened her grip on her sword, holding Su’s gaze but wondering momentarily if she could take advantage of their position for a solid strike to the woman’s gut. “Well, _I_ didn’t have to die for this,” she remarked, mustering at least a faint trace of her prior confidence.

“No,” Su laughed, “but you’re going to.” Before Conlaeth could react she raised her sword and lunged, letting Conlaeth’s blade plunge deep into her chest.

 

-//-

  **1317 - _Sawtooth Bay_  
**

“Is that… the _Defiant?”_

A ripple of speculation rolled through the crew, though Conlaeth remained unfazed. Sulaman swore under her breath, marching across the deck as she gestured broadly to the others. “This route was supposed to be clear! Ellis! We’re falling back, hoist the main-”

“Stay that command, Ellis,” Conlaeth cut in. “It seems my first mate forgets herself.”

Sulaman shot her an incredulous look. “Captain, there's no way we come out on top in a gunfight with the _Defiant._ The second we get within range she could sink us before we’re even positioned to shoot back, what _exactly_ is your plan here?”

Conlaeth simply smiled, not even sparing a glance for the massive ship off their starboard side. “I don’t think it’s going to come to that.”

Another moment of puzzled uncertainty passed, before Barley finally shuffled to her side, twisting a dial on his headpiece to get a better look at the scene. “Oh… _oh,”_ he mumbled.

“For the love of- _what?”_ Sulaman barked.

“Most of the crew isn’t even aboard… Something’s happening on shore. It… in-fighting? Did we just trip over a mutiny?”

Conlaeth watched the same realization dawn on Sulaman that she'd seen on Aili. Instead of outrage, however, her first mate turned to her with a hint of cautious intrigue. “What did you do?”

“I'm sure I don't know what you mean,” Conlaeth replied, “but I'm not about to leave these brave souls to what looks like a fairly doomed uprising.” She raised her voice to address the crew en masse. “Why don't we lower the sails and prep the tender, send as many non-essentials as we can spare.” Even as she was calling out orders there was a flurry of activity as people hurried back to their positions. “Cover their retreat, they're sure to be short-handed so do what you can to get the _Defiant_ safely back to sea, tell them to rendezvous at Dawnside Quay.” She made her way aft, with Sulaman close behind, and lowered her voice again to address her more directly. “Indira, I want you with them.”

“What? Why?”

“As a show of good faith,” Conlaeth insisted, leaning against the bulwark. “A contingent led by my best and brightest, so they know I’m not just throwing disposable bodies at their cause. Besides, I trust **you** to keep this organized and get my people back at the end. Do what you can to prop up Zhang in the aftermath, it’s important that she comes out of this in one piece.”

Sulaman regarded her with obvious doubt. “Aili Zhang? Really..?”

“Trust me. Now don’t keep them waiting.”

Sulaman moved away to join the crew assembling for the rescue mission, and Conlaeth’s gaze drifted toward the shore as the ship edged its way closer. The beach was awash in conflict, and while it was hard to discern individual faces from where she stood, she scanned them anyway until she picked out Su Qinhe’s broad shouldered and dark haired form. The woman paused in the midst of the melee as the Splitblade came clearly into view, and for just a moment Conlaeth knew, even at that distance, that they had locked eyes. She smiled and tossed the other captain a quick salute. Just as she was turning away the sound of a gunshot cracked and echoed across the water, and Su staggered.

 

-//-

 

Pain arced through Conlaeth’s body before she realized what had happened--her breath hitched and her grip slackened. She dimly registered the sound of her sword clattering to the ground at her feet as her gaze darted, uncomprehending, from Su's triumphant eyes only inches away, to the blade buried in her own stomach. Time seemed to slow to an impossible crawl as her brain strained to make sense of what her senses were telling her. Her features contorted, horrorstruck, as she let out a wordless sound somewhere between an anguished cry and a howl of outrage, that broke down into a choking cough as her legs gave out and Su raised one heavy boot to shove her backward, off the blade and onto the ground. As Conlaeth was still trying to drag a gasping breath into her lungs Su stooped down and grabbed the collar of her shirt again, hoisting her to her feet and shoving her up against the side of the stacked crates. “I spent. _Years._ Waiting for this,” she said, her voice a growl deep in her throat, “meditating on everything you took from me. My life. My work. My _legacy._ I crawled my way through the blood-soaked battlefields of _hell_ for this moment. And you. You have the _gall_ to flaunt the same power I had to _die_ for. How did you do it?”

Conlaeth grit her teeth. She wasn’t sure she would have been able to choke out a response even if she wanted to, but she wasn’t about to give Su the satisfaction of seeing her try. She didn’t have to. Su’s eyes drifted down to her neck, where the slightest glimpse of a metal chain glinted in the moonlight, and even through a bleary cloud of agony Conlaeth realized immediately, with a sinking feeling, what had caught her attention. Su narrowed her eyes, working her thumb under the chain and tugging until a small triangular pendant slipped free of Conlaeth’s shirt. Though unassuming, it radiated with an energy that was wholly familiar to both of them by now. “Wait-” Conlaeth breathed, raising her hand in a weak attempt to stop Su as the woman let go of her shirt and closed her fist around the amulet. The chain broke away with one solid tug, and the suddenly severed connection left Conlaeth reeling as she collapsed back to the ground, a pocket of emptiness spreading through her head and chest where only a second ago there had been the power she had grown so comfortable with.

Su held the relic up so the light shone down on it more directly, turned it back and forth to examine it from all sides. "Of course," she sneered, tossing a look of disgust down to Conlaeth at her feet. "A ruse, a lot of bluffs and posturing and no substance, just like everything you've _ever_ done in your life." Conlaeth pushed herself up away from the ground, tasting bitter sap on her tongue as she tried to reign her thoughts back in, tried to find some spark of her old magic. It had been a long time since she’d had to rely on the elements, but it was all she had now, and if she could just…

Su hooked her boot under Conlaeth’s ribs and shoved, sending her flat onto her back. Then the woman brought her sword down, piercing through Conlaeth's right shoulder until the tip of her blade scraped the stone beneath her. Conlaeth let out another strangled cry, but she had the strength for little else. Su held her gaze and tossed the pendant into the bay, and it was in that instant that Conlaeth understood.

Suddenly, and without a doubt, she realized she was staring her own death in the face, and she was afraid.

Su met her terror with a humorless smile. “I expected more from you.” She braced her boot against Conlaeth's arm, right at the shoulder, and yanked the sword free before holding it poised, the tip hovering against Conlaeth's throat. At that point she might have said something more, some parting words, but Conlaeth's senses tunneled and spiraled out of focus. She barely comprehended what was happening when the pinprick of steel at her throat and the weight pinning her to the ground vanished and she was showered in sparks, when an outraged shout was suddenly drowned out by a roaring heat that bathed everything in orange light, when there were rushing footsteps, then hands on her, nervous and tentative, a voice saying "hang on Captain, stay with me," a twisting, warping of the space around her and a sound like distant music being stretched thin.  
  
And then silence, stillness, and darkness.

 

-//-

  **1317 - _Dawnside Quay, Rata Sum_  
**

Conlaeth studied the open skyline of the ocean, the setting sun bathing everything in warm shades of orange and yellow. Her gaze drifted down to the asuran port below, where both the _Splitblade_ and the _Defiant_ were docked and the crews were mingling idly, and shifted her attention in turn to Sulaman, who was slowly climbing the steps to where she stood near the asura gate leading into the city. “Damage report?” she prompted, as the woman fell into position at her side.

“Minimal. Some minor wounds in the skirmish but most of them were treated just in the time it took to get here from Southsun.” Sulaman paused, considering what else would be worth recounting. “Su Qinhe and the few who sided with her were stranded on Southsun, I doubt they’ll fare well. Zhang is… fine…” When she hesitated to continue Conlaeth regarded her silently, raising one eyebrow. At length Sulaman lowered her voice, saying, “Captain, if I may… even with Su gone, an alliance with the _Defiant_ seems ill-fated.”

Conlaeth nodded. “I completely agree.”

“I-... Sorry?” Sulaman stared at her, baffled in her own turn. “Then… then _what_ in Balthazar’s name are we doing?”

“We're being neighborly,” Conlaeth said, shrugging. “And we're helping to end the career of a tyrannical leader. The remaining crew will most likely rally behind Zhang after this brave performance of hers. She’ll be emboldened by her success, and will doubtless try to carry on in Su’s stead without any help from us.”

“That would be career suicide, she's not-” another visible wave of understanding passed across Sulaman’s features. “She's not... cut out for that kind of leadership. They'll eat her alive. The _Defiant’s_ power structure will crumble and they won’t even be a factor anymore.”

Conlaeth took a deep, slow breath, savoring the cool ocean air, and exhaled a contented sigh. “You think so? Well, that is unfortunate.”

 

-//-


	2. Chapter 2

**1321 -** **_the Strait of Sacrilege, off the coast of Hunter’s Table_ **

“The _Vacant Heart_ is in sight, Captain, about five leagues out off the port bow.”

Conlaeth gripped the wheel and leaned back, peering across the length of the _Splitblade_. Beyond their bow she could see the long, fat body of the galley hunkered near the shore, and the jagged grey skyline of Orr rising up behind it. “Ready about,” she called, waiting as those nearest to her carried her order along the deck before she cut the wheel hard, turning across the wind to bring them inshore. It would still be a few minutes before they were close enough to drop anchor, and once she was certain they would keep their bearing she leaned forward, crossing her arms atop the wheel as she caught Khonn’s attention. She tilted her head to summon the asura closer, and once they were close enough for a candid conversation she lowered her voice. “Are we wasting our time?”

Khonn studied her with a slightly cautious eye, as if suspecting it was a trick question. “Well, you… call the shots, as it were, Captain, I imagine that would be your assessment to make.”

“Yeah…” Conlaeth mused, glancing up toward the _Vacant Heart_ again. “But you’re supposed to be our _expert._ The magpies’ pull has been weaker and weaker, they can’t possibly have exhausted the ruins already, right?”

Khonn scratched at one long, drooping ear, and looked pensively out at the distant landscape of Orr. “It’s possible they’re simply reluctant to take the… _necessary risks_ to maintain their output.”

Conlaeth laughed. “Well then maybe they need a reminder of what their duties entail,” she said, straightening. “Make sure Ellis and Durand have the tender ready, if I have to go ashore _personally_ to-” a frantic shout went up on the _Vacant Heart_ as they approached, and she was close enough now to see panicked motion on their deck. A moment later her own crew took up the call as well, and her stomach turned as she realized what it was.

_“Bone ship! Starboard side!”_

She turned just in time to see the enemy vessel breach, then settle onto the water with a sickly groan. It gleamed slick and oily in the midday sun, its hull a writhing mass of bone and decay, risen swarming across its deck like maggots. As she stared a row of thick tendrils peeled up from the hull, quivering before arching back in preparation for the ship’s first attack.

Conlaeth wasted no time in responding. “Haul in and _hold on!”_ she shouted. Khonn scurried away as several others leapt to action, and within seconds the sails snapped tight against the wind and Conlaeth pulled the bow back to starboard, just as the bone ship’s tendrils whipped forward. Half the projectiles splashed harmlessly into the water on either side, but the remaining two crashed into the deck with a sickening crunch, only to shamble to their feet in moments. A risen charr swiped at the nearest sailors, raking its claws through the chest of one before a sharp crack of gunfire rang out and it toppled backward over the gunwale. The risen human was faster, darting in past the first line of defense only to be cut down by Sulaman before it could reach the helm. She ducked away an instant later, as the corpse burst in a shower of gore and putrid gas. Conlaeth allowed herself a moment’s satisfaction--bone ships might be some of the worst Zhaitan had to offer, but they were no match for the _Splitblade’s_ speed and agility, and she had sunk them before. “Prime the portside cannons!” she barked. If they timed it right, they should be able to broadside the bone ship before it could ready another attack.

She never had a chance to test that theory. “Wait! There’s something else-” Ellis called out in a panic, and Conlaeth swore under her breath as she turned. Something massive came crashing down behind them in a blur of iridescent flesh and leathery wings, showering them in a spray of salt water as the ship pitched dangerously forward. Conlaeth gripped the wheel to keep her footing, but a cry of terror that rose and then abruptly terminated told her someone else had not been so quick to act. As the _Splitblade_ settled she took just a moment to assess the scene--they were down at least two bodies, the bone ship was primed to sling another volley of risen soldiers their way, a dragon champion was already angling to attack, and the _Vacant Heart_ had been pushed dangerously close to the shore, well out of range to offer them any support.

There was a second’s hesitation across the _Splitblade’s_ deck, before Conlaeth angrily waved them all back to action, shouting, “what are you waiting for? You have your target!” They were nearly in position when the wet snap of straining tendons told Conlaeth they had missed their first window to strike back, and the ship shuddered as the full force of bone ship’s attack collided with their hull as the dragon lifted into the air again.

“Venya, Sidarr, watch the bulwark!” Sulaman’s voice rang out below her, “they’ll be coming over the sides, keep them _off_ the gunners!”

“Fire _everything!”_ Conlaeth followed, holding tight to the wheel as she fought against the current’s drag on the rudder. All three cannons registered in quick succession, just as the dragon came back down on their right, sending up another wave that rocked them violently. The beast loomed over the vessel, salt-pocked flesh glistening, and as it bared jagged teeth a noxious cloud billowed from its jaws. It convulsed violently, spewing a dozen massive maggots onto the deck before ponderously raising itself up on its haunches.

Conlaeth cursed violently, her eyes darting across the scene. _“Indira!”_ Her first mate turned immediately to face her. “Take the helm, keep us steady!” Sulaman nodded, climbing the steps to the wheelhouse, and as soon as she had one hand on the wheel Conlaeth was on the move. As she descended to the main deck she heard Sulaman issue an order to reload the cannons, but Conlaeth’s attention was wholly focused on the dragon now. She shot a tongue of flame at one of the maggots in her path, brought her boot down through the soft head of another, and as soon as she was in range she swept her arms out, hurling a massive wave of fire that burst against the dragon’s chest and staggered it just before it could wrap its claws around the foremast. It shrieked in outrage as it spread its wings to regain its balance, its efforts hampered by a barrage of gunfire from Ellis and Barley. As the creature came back down onto all four limbs, Conlaeth readied herself for another attack. Energy crackled up through the air around her, arcing out as the dragon lunged, jaws gaping. The blast knocked its strike wide but it still buried its teeth deep into the starboard bow, causing the hull to buckle and one of the cannons to slide into the ocean below. A rope torn loose from the jib whipped out, catching Ellis across the back and sending him tumbling as the ship listed forward. Conlaeth reeled, grabbing frantically for support before she felt a heavy hand clamp around her arm.

Sidarr’s ears were pressed tight against his skull, and his eyes were wild, darting from her to the dragon as it adjusted its grip and tugged, splintering the bowsprit. Behind them, someone else called out, “we’re taking on water!” A second later Sulaman answered, “this is suicide, abandon ship!”

 _“No!”_ the word was out of Conlaeth’s mouth before she could consider the wisdom of it, but the dragon eliminated any need for debate. It released its grip on the bow and vaulted out of the water, only to brace itself atop the mizzen mast. The weight caused the ship to pitch backward again as the mast groaned under the weight. With one heavy beat of its wings the dragon lifted off, and the mast cracked half-way up its length in a shower of splinters. “No, _no!”_ Conlaeth cried again, wrenching herself free of Sidarr’s grip and half-sprinting half-staggering back along the _Splitblade’s_ length. There was already another burst of flame coalescing in her hands when she reached the far end of the deck, but Sulaman took hold of her, pulling her away from the edge. “Let me go!” she spat. “I’m not letting this ship go down, not here!”

“You don’t have a choice,” Sulaman shot back. As if to illustrate her point, the flagging vessel was rocked by another assault from the bone ship, this time an explosive battery that coated their port side in oily flames and sent up a chorus of horrified screams. “Captain _please,_ there’s no coming back from this.”

All at once Conlaeth’s defiance drained out of her. She spiraled into a defeated daze, as Sulaman dragged her to the tender where the meager remains of her crew had already gathered; as they watched, powerless, while the _Splitblade’s_ bow dipped below the surface of the roiling sea and the fractured mast finally succumbed to gravity; as the bone ship, apparently content with what it had wrought, turned toward the shore without a second thought for the defenseless survivors; as the _Vacant Heart_ was set upon by the full force of the undead assault.

  


-//-

  


**1329 - _the Eastern Ward_**

 

Time became an indiscernible collage of light and color, muted voices and movement, as Conlaeth drifted in and out of consciousness, only ever just barely rising to the surface of awareness before slipping away again.  


The first time she was able to breach the divide she came up gasping, frantic and disoriented, some part of her mind still living in the moment that imminent death had been a certainty. She grasped blindly at her throat, tried and failed to rise as dull pain coursed through her before firm hands pressed her back down, a familiar voice uttering quietly, “stop, stop, it’s okay. We’re safe here, it’s over, it’s okay…” until, quickly overwhelmed even by these few details, her mind gave up its grip on consciousness again. The second time was gentler, the transition so subtle she was not at first convinced that she was really awake. She squinted up at the ceiling above her--cracked and slightly water stained, but vaguely familiar--then turned her head, and instantly regretted it as the simple movement strained muscles grown stiff with disuse. The space seemed small, and the only thing within her view that she could identify was a rough wooden table and two empty chairs. She was struggling to bring any of it into focus, and drawing any conclusions from this minimal information seemed in that moment like a task beyond her mental capacity. She had already closed her eyes again, content to let reality slip away just a little longer, when she realized there had been hushed voices in the room with her.

“… if it’s a good idea for you to be here when she wakes up.”

“Are you serious? If I hadn’t helped you, she’d be _dead._ ”

“No… I know, you’re right…“

Finally she blinked awake as if out of a deep sleep, and as far as she could tell nothing had changed. When she did not immediately feel like she was grappling to stay awake she took a deep breath, steeled herself, and carefully eased her body upright to take stock. Almost immediately she heard an urgent shuffling from her right and Somheirle was at her side, saying “wait- Captain, please, I don’t think you should be up just yet,” as he tried to urge her back onto the bed. She pushed his hands away, and though it was a feeble effort on her part he obliged and fell back to the table, where one of the chairs had been positioned to face the bed.

Conlaeth’s shoulder was already on fire from the effort of sitting up, and she swore under her breath as she pressed her fingers experimentally to her stomach, only to be met with another warning ache. The wounds had been carefully bandaged, and while it seemed some cursory healing magic had closed the first gash in her arm, it had done little beyond stop her from dying on the spot of the more serious injuries. After a moment she raised her left hand to her crown with almost tentative curiosity and ran her fingers along the lines of coiled buds, the beginnings of leaves she had kept cropped tight to her scalp through her Pact career. “How long..?” she asked at length, cringing at the hoarse texture of her own voice.

“Eight days,” Somheirle offered readily, not needing any clarification to the question. Conlaeth finally looked up then, actually taking in the state of her caretaker. He looked ragged and weary, as if in contrast to her long struggle with consciousness he had hardly slept at all, but there was a clearly present and unwavering note of worry written in his features as he watched her.

Conlaeth cautiously expanded her examination to the rest of their surroundings, though her head was spinning and she was already beginning to feel overtaxed once again. A single room, just barely large enough to comfortably hold the low bed, table, chest of drawers, and the single heavy foot locker that populated it. Recognition dawned on her slowly. The tiny safehouse was nestled deep in the labyrinth of the lowest-end residential part of Lion's Arch. Conlaeth had had little use for it, but out of habit had rented it to replace a similar shelter in old Lion’s Arch, and maintained it as a possible spot to hunker down in case she needed to be, at least briefly, hard to find. In the absence of any direct orders from her, Somheirle must have brought her here--with someone else’s help. Conlaeth blinked, furrowing her brow as she wondered why she knew that.

“We need to leave,” she rasped, a certainty behind her words that she did not initially feel was her own. Why the urgency? She felt like her mind was lagging behind her actions, a dull fog weaving through her thoughts. She grit her teeth against the fresh stab of pain through her abdomen as she leaned forward and got both her feet on the ground.

“Wh- no! Why?” Somheirle sat forward again, reaching out to her, though he seemed uncertain whether he wanted to stop her or help her up.

Conlaeth made the decision for him, and gripped his wrist for support as she hauled herself to her feet. “Because-...” she started, asking herself the same question as she dragged herself the few paces to sink into the empty chair at the other side of the table. The scenery wasn’t much different and it was a downgrade in comfort, but she wasn’t about to lay there and let Somheirle fuss over her. After a second the geography of their surroundings solidified out of her bleary memories. “ _Because,_ we’re not that far from where I was nearly gutted in the _street.”_ It was only then that she realized the table was covered in an assortment of letters and notes, several bound books, and some bit of technology that looked asuran in origin. “What is this,” she asked flatly.

“There… Well there’s a _lot_ … happening,” Somheirle replied, idly sorting some of the loose papers into a stack as he rubbed his eyes. “In Tyria. I’m just trying to stay on top of it all.”

“Fine, pack it up. See if you can get in touch with Indira, she still-…” Conlaeth’s mouth went dry. She exhaled a sharp puff of air that bled into a tired, humorless chuckle, then dragged a hand over her face in weary exasperation. “So how did she die?”

Somheirle did not answer immediately. When Conlaeth met his eye there was something in his expression she couldn’t quite place. She thought it might be guilt. “She drowned, according to the Lionguard,” he said, his gaze slipping back down to the table between them.

“Who else?”

“Uhm. Barley, Khonn, and Venya, no clear leads on any of them. Aedh disappeared on a patrol along the coast, but… I think…”

Conlaeth let her head fall against the back of the chair. “Is there… _anyone_ off my blasted ship who’s still _alive?”_

Somheirle breathed in, then exhaled in a long uncertain hum. “Well there’s you..?” When Conlaeth lifted her head just enough to glare at him down her nose he pressed on quickly, “I’d have to… I wasn’t exactly keeping _tabs_ on them, but-”

“If there’s anyone left then find them. Warn them. Find out what that warning is worth to them.”

After a momentary, almost imperceptible hesitation Somheirle conceded, “sure, of course. And, you know, worst case scenario there’s always-”

“Don’t finish that sentence.” Conlaeth didn’t have the energy to put as much force or venom behind her words as she wanted, but the silence that followed, punctuated only by the quiet dry rustle of paper, told her she’d gotten her point across. She wasn’t even certain who he had been about to recommend, but she could think of no one whose help she would willingly accept at this point. Eventually she lifted her head again with some effort and rubbed her eyes. “While you're at it I need to know how to _stop_ this.”

Somheirle halted his nervous hands and looked up, no comprehension in his tired eyes. “Stop… what do you mean?”

Conlaeth leaned forward and let her arms land heavily on the table, making it rattle slightly. “I _mean_ I need to know how in the bleeding _godsdamned_ Mists Su Qinhe is walking among the living again, and how I _end her._ Once and for all. She nearly killed me, Sonny, and she- she…” What did she do? Conlaeth’s eyes darted searchingly across the table as her hand drifted idly to her throat and found only smooth, bare skin and the edges of her bandages. She pulled in a rattling breath as her memory of the fight finally caught up with her and she realized why she felt so disoriented, why even beyond the physical injuries she felt like there was somehow slightly less of her present than there should have been. She stared down at her open hands--empty and powerless now on a level she couldn’t even explain. She felt… nothing. Not the unsteady flicker of the Mists at the edge of her consciousness, or the quiet hum of residual energy she had grown used to. Most alarmingly, she no longer felt even the spark of ordinary fire at her fingertips, and she doubted she’d be able to call up any other elements if she tried.

“Captain..?”

She was so _deeply_ sick of having the things she had rightfully earned ripped away from her, and in an instant her horror warped into cold outrage. “Find me a way,” she said, her voice deceptively quiet, “to destroy her.”

Somheirle nodded slowly, but he could clearly read the change in the air between them and had grown tense. “I’m just... not sure where to even start,” he admitted. “With the leylines, the bandits, the _bloodstone_ , if you can believe it, sifting through all the information about magical anomalies will be… how did she leave the Mists? _Where_ did she leave? How long has she been-”

“These are the questions I expect _you_ to answer,” Conlaeth barked. “ _Figure it out,_ otherwise what _fucking_ use are you?”

Somheirle blinked, jarred out of his musing, and stared wide eyed and wounded across the table at her. He opened his mouth and then closed it again, as if reconsidering his response. Then a second later he seemed to find at least a tiny spark of courage as he meekly pointed out, “I did save your life.”

At that Conlaeth laughed dryly and leaned forward to look him dead in the eye. “Yeah, you sure did. And since I'm still alive, you still _work_ for _me._ So get me. _Results._ ”

Somheirle set his jaw and took one short, steadying breath, but before he could respond there was a quiet knock from outside. Conlaeth’s fury evaporated in a sudden spike of paranoia, but Somheirle seemed unconcerned as he stood and stepped around her to the other side of the room and opened the door.

“Oh! She lives!”

The new voice struck a familiar chord, and it aligned with her earlier theory that Somheirle’s rescue had required help, but Conlaeth immediately bristled at the idea that someone else already knew she was here, and even moreso at the idea that anyone but Somheirle would be allowed to witness her now, when she had fallen so far from where she once was.

The woman who followed Somheirle back to the table was human, diminutive and of Canthan descent, and she managed to project an air of affability before even speaking. Her clothes were stylish but practical and her dark hair bounced around her cheeks in lively waves. Conlaeth was sorting doggedly through cloudy memories to decide if they had met before when Somheirle explained, “this is Ubon, I couldn’t have gotten you here safely without her help.”

Conlaeth folded her arms in front of her and looked the new arrival over doubtfully. “How do you figure?”

“You’d be surprised what you can accomplish with a quick, well placed portal,” Ubon grinned, snapping her fingers to send a burst of tiny pink butterflies into the air. Even with the uneasy look she caught from Somheirle out of the corner of her eye, it took Conlaeth an agonizing couple seconds to parse that comment. When she did, she was seized by a sinking feeling in her gut, and she buried her face in her hands with a defeated groan. She could hear Ubon laugh at her side at the same time Somheirle’s chair creaked as he sat back down. “Oh wow, you really weren’t kidding Sonny,” Ubon mused. “Not even a _little_ gratitude for saving you from certain death?”

“I don’t work with mesmers,” Conlaeth muttered from behind her hands.

“You do now!”

Conlaeth started as Ubon patted her back ever so gently, and finally looked up again as the woman circled around the table and braced a hand on the back of Somheirle’s chair as she leaned over to skim his notes. “Sonny how do you know her?” Conlaeth demanded.

“We’ve worked together for a while,” he replied, not looking up. “Traded information, resources…”

Conlaeth shifted her gaze to Ubon. “You’re a broker?”

“Oh, no, not exactly,” Ubon chuckled, “more of a… specialist. In the business of mortuary collection and dispersal.”

The response sounded oddly rehearsed, and Conlaeth initially moved past it without another thought. “So why-” she stopped short when her weary mind managed to pull the meaning out of words, and wrinkled her nose in obvious distaste. “You’re a bodysnatcher.”

Ubon’s eyebrows shot up in clear disapproval of her reaction. “And I believe _you,”_ she declared, punctuating the word with a quick jab of her finger, “are a body _maker.”_ She straightened and crossed her arms, staring down her nose at Conlaeth as her lips quirked into a smug grin that seemed slightly tarnished by uncertainty, like she wasn't entirely sure of what she was saying but she was committed to it now. “How many crews have you lost so far _,_ Commander? Or should I say Captain?”

Conlaeth narrowed her eyes, immediately shifting her critical look back to Somheirle. He looked just as startled by Ubon’s retort, and after a second’s hesitation he shrugged. “People… still talk about it,” he admitted, his voice low as if the comment was meant for Conlaeth only, despite Ubon being right beside him.

Conlaeth sighed, sinking inelegantly into her seat and tossing Ubon a smile that was indulgent, if not especially authentic. “Well my friend, I never set foot on any of the Pact’s airships, so the fleet going down wasn’t _actually_ my fault. Regardless of what anyone says.”

Ubon’s smirk settled into a glare of her own. “Plenty of people would say that was the problem,” she began cautiously. “That you weren’t accountable enough.”

“Please,” Conlaeth scoffed, “if that were true I wouldn’t have been out in the jungle trying to fix the _Marshal’s_ mistakes. But I don’t expect some armchair intellectual to understand Pact politics, so unless you want to stand where _I_ stood-”

“You mean _not with the fleet?”_ Ubon interrupted, earning herself a razor-sharp glare from Conlaeth. “Either way I doubt ‘politics’ explain--whatever happened _here_ ,” she went on, gesturing roughly in Conlaeth’s direction to encompass her general state of disrepair. “Whatever you dragged Sonny into that he needed my help… You know, the help of a _bodysnatcher.”_ She sniffed derisively.

 _“Oh_ no, don’t- don’t get the wrong idea,” Somheirle jumped in quickly, smiling meekly as he held up a placating hand to Ubon. “I wasn’t ‘dragged’ into anything, I was just doing what-”

“Just doing what you were told, yeah I know,” Ubon grumbled, giving him a pointed warning look. “Anyway I don’t care, all I really want to know is why me and Sonny are out here porting _your_ ass to safety instead of doing our real jobs. I’ve got dead bodies waiting to be moved, and lemme say they’re a lot more grateful than you, and they’re _dead.”_

Somheirle bowed his head to hide what could have been a cough or a quiet laugh behind his hand as he made a show of focusing on the papers before him, but Conlaeth hardly spared him a glance as she stared, dumbstruck, up at Ubon. “You know, _frankly,”_ she breathed, once she found her voice again, “I would gladly join them right about now.” She exhaled another heavy breath and raised a hand to massage her temple, quickly letting her arm drop back into her lap when the motion strained at her shoulder. “One of you _is_ doing his _real job,”_ she continued, glancing in Somheirle’s direction before pinning Ubon under a look that had lost any trace of kindness. “I don’t know why _you’re_ here, I doubt we have any more need of your…” She gave a sarcastic--albeit half-hearted--flourish of her hand, _“talents.”_

She winced when Somheirle cleared his throat, saying, “mmm, actually. I asked her to come.”

Ubon hardly had time to act on her obvious outrage before it leapt directly to smug satisfaction. “That’s right,” she declared, “We have _puh-lenty_ of need for my talents.” She twirled her hand in a more lively mimicry of Conlaeth’s gesture, sending a couple more conjured butterflies flitting down to land on the edge of Somheirle’s paper before dissipating when he set it aside.

“I do appreciate your help,” he offered idly, as if Ubon and Conlaeth didn’t seem on the verge of coming to blows around him.

“Sonny asked me to help him protect this place--you know, a couple wards here, runes over there. Since you need to be _babysat_ and he has ‘real’ work to do.”

“… Fantastic,” was the only response Conlaeth could muster, and it tasted unbelievably bitter on her lips.

Ubon stepped away from the table, settling herself on the edge of the bed in the absence of any additional seating. “Well if that’s settled, maybe you can indulge me and explain what _you_ did to make this all necessary.”

“What, Sonny didn’t fill you in on all that too?”

“I didn’t _tell_ her what happened to the _Splitblade,”_ Somheirle insisted, finally looking up. “I swear people just know about that. Did you forget you were kind of a big deal before the Vigil?”

Of course she hadn’t, but she had apparently been foolish to think others might, even with her cursory attempts to bury that part of her life. Conlaeth just rolled her eyes, before pausing to weigh how much she felt Ubon really deserved to know. “It’s not that complicated--old rival, she wants me dead, I’d really rather not _oblige.”_

Ubon gave her a long, pensive look before nodding, apparently accepting that explanation. “What’d ya do to her?” she pressed blithely, scooting back until she could prop her back against the wall and kick her feet up against one of the legs of Somheirle’s chair.

“Why does it matter?”

“Just curious,” Ubon shrugged. “Must have been pretty bad, you don’t usually come after someone like that without good reason. And Sonny’s right, you’re… _kind_ of a ‘big deal,’ _Commander._ Takes guts to go gunning for you knowing you like, killed a dragon and all.”

“It wasn’t anything I-” Conlaeth stopped again, mentally backtracking. “I killed _two_ dragons,” she pointed out curtly, earning a snort from Somheirle.

Just then he looked up from his busy work, eyeing Conlaeth with a furrowed brow. “Do you… do you think Su even _knows_ that?”

Conlaeth held his gaze for a moment before a bout of laughter bubbled up in her chest, only to dissolve into a groan of pain as she pressed a hand to her side. “Shit…“ she wheezed. “I don’t know. She’s been dead longer than _either_ of them and she doesn’t seem like the type to brush up on recent events.”

“Wait- sorry, _what?”_ One of Ubon’s feet slipped in her surprise and thunked loudly onto the floor. “This rival of yours is _dead?_ Like… _dead_ dead?” Conlaeth opened her mouth to respond, but Ubon didn't give her a chance. “So- so some _stiff,”_ she gasped, quickly losing the thread of her words to a hearty laugh of her own, “did _that?_ To _you?_ Oh _gods_ maybe I should be watching my back! Years of business and no one's ever complained about reanimation but I guess you- you never know!” The final words devolved into another fit of giggles as she tilted over onto her side across the bed.

“I'm glad you're having such a good _time,”_ Conlaeth bit out, “but if this is what you have to contribute maybe you can see to your wards and then move on.”

“Ghosts aren't exactly unheard of,” Somheirle pointed out, and Conlaeth marveled briefly at his ability to follow the conversation despite his apparent distraction. He slid several loose sheets of paper into a neat stack. At that point it was beginning to look as if he was sorting specific pieces out of the assortment of information, though to what end was unclear. “If they were easy to deal with the charr would have Ascalon under control by now.”

“No… no you're right,” Ubon conceded, propping herself up on one arm and tossing Conlaeth a lopsided grin as her laughter began to subside and she wiped a tear from her eye. “So… what? You killed her and she's bitter about it?”

“I didn't kill her.” The decisiveness of Conlaeth's reply seemed to sober Ubon slightly, and she pushed herself back upright, her expression attentive. “The issue isn’t really what I _did_ but what Su _believes_.”

“Which is…?”

“Not important,” Conlaeth insisted, though she suspected Ubon’s furrowed brow meant she wasn’t ready to drop the subject just yet. “The point is she was dead and I wasn't and it needs to stay that way.”

“There’s a lot to sift through,” Somheirle sat back, rubbing the back of his neck, “all I can think is maybe we start small, get as much information as we can about the other crew deaths. If we can find witnesses, know exactly how they died, what happened to the bodies… But crime scenes aren’t really my field, so…” here he trailed off, turning to Ubon as if hoping she would pick up the thread.

“Oh! And they’re _mine,”_ Ubon offered with alacrity, beaming. “Who knows, maybe I even moved some of them, you know, after enough time everyone kinda starts looking the same.” She didn’t seem to catch the sour look Conlaeth sent her way as she tapped her chin thoughtfully with one finger. “I’m kidding, of course,” she continued, her smile only growing. “I don’t really do unscheduled moves outside of Lion’s Arch. Where did these murders happen, anyway? Who were they? Gimme some details, Sonny.” She scooted forward to peer at Somheirle’s notes on the table just as he was passing her a small collection of papers, some worn and wrinkled as if they had passed through several different hands already.

“Names, races, histories,” he said, as she accepted the papers and took a cursory look through them. “Venya Bladearm and Khonn died in the Reach, Aedh disappeared on patrol in Bloodtide Coast and her squad assumes the worst. Will Barley died here in Lion’s Arch, as did… Indira Sulaman…” He was visibly hesitant to list the final name, and his eyes darted to Conlaeth for her reaction, but she had fallen into a moody silence and, almost defensively, allowed her mind to wander as he continued, outlining the general situation for Ubon.

She trusted, on some level, that Somheirle had a plan and that he was approaching the situation from a logical angle, but she was struggling to grasp how lingering on the deaths of her old crew helped anything. Not when Su Qinhe was still out there, apparently driven by nothing but a burning need for vengeance, and not when Conlaeth had been robbed of her authority, resources, and now, it seemed, her remaining strength. They would be better served by a manhunt, surely.

“… be nothing to learn from it, but at the very least I want to know why they don’t seem to be taking it seriously.”

“A lot of people die in Lion’s Arch, Sonny, you know that.”

Conlaeth didn’t register that anything had changed until Somheirle gingerly touched her arm, and then she realized both he and Ubon were standing again, and looked as if they were preparing to leave. “I shouldn’t be long,” was all Somheirle said.

“What… what about the wards?” Conlaeth asked. She hated that she sounded afraid.

“Already done.” Ubon beamed, but it only deepened Conlaeth’s disoriented feeling. How much time had just passed? “Anyone crosses that threshold,” she continued, hiking a thumb over her shoulder toward the door, “they’ll have a mean burst of magic to shake off, and I’ll know immediately so we can come back.”

Conlaeth let her head fall against the back of the chair again without saying anything else, and to her relief the others seemed to take that as clearance to leave.

She was only satisfied by the silence that settled over the room for a minute or two before it became overwhelming and she was seized by a sudden restlessness. She dragged herself to her feet with a groan, bracing both hands against the table and gritting her teeth as she waited for another wave of pain to subside. She had to blink black spots out of her eyes before she could do anything else, but once she was finally able to focus she swept her eyes over the remaining information assembled in front of Somheirle’s chair, certain that if she could make heads or tails of his notes there would be a better lead buried in them somewhere. After a cursory examination she just started picking up papers at random until one caught her attention, despite its sparse contents: the letter wasn’t addressed to anyone in particular, which probably meant it was addressed to Somheirle, and if the condition of the parchment was any indication, it was fairly new. Two words jumped out in her mind, pointing vaguely to one of Somheirle’s earlier comments.

_You’re not wrong--something’s going on up north and everyone’s cagey about it. I hear “bandits” and “bloodstone” among other things. If you know what it’s worth to you I’ll tell you what I know_

_\--E_

  


-//-

 

 **1321 -** **_south of the Conquest Marina ruins_ **

Tiny waves splashed listlessly at the edge of the rocky shore. The subtle movement of the water and the weak, humid wind seemed disconcertingly peaceful in the aftermath of the attack, but all had grown still now, and the world felt muted and dull. Conlaeth was unsure how long she had been standing at the edge of the water, unmoving, but try as she might she couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away from the soft curve of the _Splitblade’s_ stern where it rose awkwardly up out of the ocean a few miles out, the mizzen mast cracked and toppled with its tattered sail draped over what was left of the hull like a funeral shroud.

“Almost seems cruel.” Sulaman’s voice only barely penetrated her dismayed stupor. “If she’d just gone down a little farther out maybe we wouldn’t have to see it.” Conlaeth couldn’t seem to find a suitable reaction to that--her mind was still rattling with shouts and guttural cries and the cracking of timber. Sulaman tried again. “Captain, we could really use your help, you can’t just stand here wallowing forever.”

“How… how could this happen…?” Conlaeth breathed, though it was not really in response to Sulaman’s comment. As the wind gained strength she reached up to brush loose leaves away from her face, only to realize that her hands were shaking.

“We can ask those questions when we’re _safe_ , but that won’t happen if we just settle down here waiting for the risen to find us. We _need_ our captain _on hand.”_

“Indira, I…” Conlaeth took a ragged breath, struggling to put her thoughts into words. “Everything I had…”

She didn’t move until Sulaman took hold of her arm and physically turned her away from the wreckage of the _Splitblade,_ and even then she could not immediately pull herself back into the moment. Then as if a bubble had suddenly burst, their surroundings pressed in against her senses all at once--the moist warmth of the air against her skin, the mingled brine of the ocean and the stink of rot all around them, the whisper of distant waves and the uncertain bustle and murmur of the surviving crew farther inland. She blinked, her gaze wandering searchingly before finally settling on Sulaman, and as she came back to herself, the void that had been carved into her emotions suddenly filled with the easiest thing she could grab onto--anger. She felt paralyzed, she had no idea what her next action should be, and it frustrated her deeply. “ _Everything_ I had,” she began again, eager to turn that anger outward before she had to examine it too closely, “everything I _built…_ My entire _life_ is sitting at the bottom of the ocean-” she swept a hand out toward the wreck, but she wouldn’t let herself look at it again, “-or in the gullet of some _gods forsaken_ dragon! _What,_ pray tell, do you expect me to _do?”_

Sulaman stood fast, unmoved by the outburst. “Well, the way I see it, you’re still breathing-” Conlaeth scoffed, rolling her eyes- “still _standing_ even _,_ and you’ve got me and uhh…” she leaned to the side and squinted past Conlaeth’s shoulder to where the survivors were huddled, “eleven sailors eagerly waiting for their next orders, with their morale dropping by the minute. I _expect_ you to take command, but if you're not up to it I will relieve you of that responsibility.”

Conlaeth bristled with indignation. “Listen, I’ve entrusted you with a _lot_ over the years but if you think for _one second_ I’m going to let you co-opt my-” she faltered at the satisfied smirk that settled onto Sulaman’s lips, and realized only then that the threat had been little more than bait. “… Alright. You’ve made your _point.”_ She straightened, taking one steadying breath as she smoothed the sleeves of her coat and glanced back at the remains of her crew. She had not even taken full stock of who had made it off the ship, and she took a moment to count them herself--Cutter had embraced her role as the only surviving medic, and with Barley’s help was tending to Marrock and Durand, who had made it ashore in the worst shape. Linzi, Khonn, and Chemma were hunkered down in a tight circle, and the three seemed to be doing their best to get a waterlogged communicator working again, while Aedh and Shark were a short distance down the beach, in quiet discussion about the wreckage of the _Vacant Heart_ even further out. Only Venya and Nenius were unoccupied, and Conlaeth recognized the troubled look in their eyes as they gazed out at the horizon. The _Splitblade_ had been the home of their warband long before it had ever been under Conlaeth’s command.

She said nothing else to Sulaman directly, but a meaningful look passed between them for just a moment before she turned away, carefully navigating the uneven terrain as she called out to the other survivors, “Alright, look alive, everyone! Come on, we’ve got a long walk ahead of us so I hope you all like hiking.” Nenius shot her a cold look, and she held up a hand before he could say anything. “When we’re safe, we mourn,” she said decisively.

They rallied with only mild reluctance, but they seemed glad for the direction and content not to question Conlaeth’s earlier mood. The first order of business was to comb over the remains of the _Vacant Heart_ for anything that might help them get home, but the galley had been dashed against the rocks so completely that most everything that might have benefitted them had been reduced to sodden debris. Shark was the first to find an intact crate as she combed through the shallows around the wreckage of the cargo hold, but in a cruel twist of irony, when she hauled it out onto the beach and pried it open, it contained only carefully packed pottery, several barnacle-encrusted knives, and an assortment of ancient jewelry. A ripple of frustration passed through the others as Venya shoved it onto its side with a bitter laugh and let the contents spill out onto the sand. “Well of course in their final hour, they finally figured out how to safely pack their cargo.”

“I think we’re wasting our time,” Conlaeth sighed, shielding her eyes from the low sun as she squinted up into the sky. “We should start moving north, look for somewhere sheltered and defensible before it gets dark.”

A few of the crew hesitated, eyeing the contents of the crate as if reluctant to abandon them, and Barley was the one to eventually say, “should we take any of this…?”

One of the vases had cracked down the side just from being upended onto the beach, and Conlaeth turned it over with her boot. “You want to pack it all back up and haul it to Lion’s Arch?” That was enough to discourage the hesitant few, and the lot of them began the slow trek along the coast. Just as Conlaeth was turning away to follow them, however, her eye was drawn back to the crate. As the sun was dipping toward the horizon its light caught the edge of something in the sand, and though she was unsure what possessed her to do it, she stooped and grabbed it without examining it any closer before falling into step behind the others, not wanting to draw any more undue attention.

They did not make it far before having to dig in for the evening, in part because they had found a passable shelter formed by a low outcropping of rock and did not want to risk being caught in a worse position once the sun had disappeared completely, but also because Durand was flagging from his injuries. When night fell Conlaeth volunteered for the first watch, eager to reestablish her dedication and authority despite the fact no one had challenged it, and she received no argument.

She could still hear the last few scraps of tired conversation as she moved away from the group, to a position where she was confident she would see any approaching threats, and she fished the salvaged bobble from the _Vacant Heart_ out of her coat pocket, brushing the last clinging bits of sand from its face as she turned it over in her hand. The pendant was unassuming, a simple triangle of glass or translucent crystal set in gold on a thin chain, but as she examined it she had no doubt this was what had drawn the attention of the others as well, whether they knew it or not--it gave off a peculiar energy that somehow both demanded her interest and compelled her to dispose of it as quickly as possible, and when she held up her free hand, calling a tiny lick of flame to her fingers to examine it more closely, for just a moment she had the impression that something was looking back at her from within the amulet itself.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**1323 -** **_Vigil Hall, Divinity’s Reach_ **

“Your order is only a few years old, I don’t see how you can afford to be so _choosey.”_

The recruiter laughed, a lively and not altogether kind sound, before she gave an exaggerated shrug. “You think we built a prime military force in a few years by just letting any old riff raff join our ranks? We don’t take just anybody, and we _definitely,”_ she pointed a finger in Conlaeth’s direction to punctuate her point, “don’t take _nobodies.”_

Conlaeth set her jaw and held her tongue before she could say anything that would only further impede her goal.

She had left Lion’s Arch intentionally to shake her reputation, which had very quickly become more trouble than it was worth after the loss of the _Splitblade_ \--despite the best efforts of her surviving crew to circulate the true account, rumors abound about what sort of incompetence or willful bravado had sunk her ship. In Divinity’s Reach she had been able to put to use a few of her remaining contacts, as well as her knack for under the table business, but the human city had never quite treated her as well as Lion’s Arch had, or been nearly as lucrative. She had spent two years marinating in regret that warped into resentment, which she eventually turned on the easiest target she could think to blame: Zhaitan. So when word reached her that an order had been founded solely with the goal of beating back the elder dragon threat, and that they were now actively recruiting, it had almost immediately displaced any other endeavors she might have had. Unfortunately, getting _in_ was proving to be more effort than she had hoped.

“What could I do,” she began slowly, carefully choosing her words, “to prove my capacity?”

The recruiter crossed her arms and leaned back, giving Conlaeth an exaggerated once-over. “Try again in a few years?” she snarked. “You sylvari are all so green, you step off your tree and you think you know the world. What are you, five?”

“I’m _thirteen,”_ Conlaeth replied indignantly.

“Oh, _almost_ an adult!” The recruiter snorted, and Conlaeth threw her hands up in exasperation. “You want to join so bad, take a trip out to the Keep and convince the general yourself.”

Conlaeth fixed the recruiter with a cold stare and squared her shoulders, taking in a sharp breath through her nose. She was well aware that the suggestion was meant to be hyperbolic, but she refused to be shot down. “I’m sure I could manage that.”

 

-//-

 

**1328 -** **_the Eastern Ward_ **

Conlaeth was certain that something incredibly significant was happening _somewhere_ in Tyria, but it was some time before she was actually able to do anything about it--though not for lack of trying. Every day she was more restless and more determined to throw herself back into the fray, and when Somheirle eventually got tired of arguing with her over the merits of bedrest, he told Ubon to start placing a second ward on the inside of the door--apparently the only sure-fire way he could think of to ensure Conlaeth wouldn’t leave. It was, unfortunately, an effective tactic, and much to her frustration she got a great deal of rest over the following weeks. However, as an added benefit that Somheirle had perhaps not accounted for, she also got very good at reading his notes. He had developed a somewhat abstruse personal shorthand, but Conlaeth spent a significant amount of time in the safe house pouring over the collected documents and their accompanying notations, sometimes alone and sometimes with the uninvited input of Ubon, when the human would linger on the insistence that she was keeping watch when Somheirle was away. In time, a greater picture slowly began to take shape.

Shortly after Mordremoth’s death, Pact forces in an uncharted part of the Maguuma Jungle stumbled into a suspiciously well-equipped bandit stronghold, and left with strong evidence that the bandits were in some way connected to the White Mantle of old. While it seemed the Pact was going to great lengths to keep the finer details hazy, there were troubling rumors hanging around the event and its greater implications. Meanwhile, the Shining Blade--historically an organization intended to fight the White Mantle--had redoubled its presence throughout Kryta in response to political unrest, and was pushing bounties on high-profile bandit leaders, which only served to strengthen the appearance of a resurgent White Mantle influence.

What interested Conlaeth more, however, was the overcharged ley lines throughout Tyria. Apparently the Durmand Priory, the Consortium, and the Inquest had all taken a personal interest--though presumably for very different reasons--in the magical energy overflowing into the atmosphere, leading to some fairly predictable conflicts around the sites of greatest disturbance. The more troubling fact was that said disturbances were apparently progressively, and exclusively, getting worse.

Somheirle seemed to believe that this was connected to Su Qinhe’s reappearance, though he had yet to determine precisely how. What he had managed to confirm was that her actions were isolated--there had been no rising trend of people reporting encounters with deceased enemies, lost loved ones, or anything of the sort. Whatever the exact circumstances were, they were unique to Conlaeth’s situation. However flattering, she didn't find that conclusion especially comforting.

Somheirle returned to the safe house one afternoon, at the outside edge of a month since the attack, with something long and thin wrapped in canvas and a sizeable, somewhat awkwardly bulky leather satchel. Conlaeth recognized them immediately and stood from the table with perhaps a little more enthusiasm than was wise, but she soldiered through the dull twinge of pain as Somheirle laid the wrapped bundle down before her and dropped the satchel at his feet with a huff.

“Thank every blasted spirit in the Mists,” Conlaeth breathed, as she pulled her rapier free of its canvas wrapping. The fine filigree of the guard still sparkled in the meager lantern light of the small room, and when she slid the blade from the sheath its edge was still bright and sharp. She turned her attention eagerly to the satchel then, saying, “is that-”

“The entirety of your Pact armor,” Somheirle confirmed as he took the empty seat, “and the rest of your effects that were stored at Fort Marriner.”

Conlaeth laid her sword down reverently before circling the table to pry open the clasp on the satchel. The first thing her hands closed around was her bracers, which she drew from the pack and turned over in her hands, as if she doubted they were really hers or was simply struggling to believe they were in her possession again. “I was starting to think _surely_ I'd never see any of this again… How did you get them to release it to you?”

Somheirle gave her a bemused look before he simply said, “I asked.” When she mirrored the look right back at him he went on, “honestly, I think they were relieved you didn't come in person.”

“Little discomfort would have served them right,” Conlaeth muttered, tucking the bracers back into the pack.

“Oh- they also had this.” Somheirle produced a sealed letter from within his tunic and passed it to her. “Apparently the courier didn’t know where to find you, which is… good, I suppose.”

Conlaeth examined the outside of the letter as she rose to her feet and meandered back to her chair. She vaguely recognized the seal, at least enough to suspect that it had originated in Hoelbrak, and when she cracked the wax with her thumb and unfolded the parchment, that suspicion was confirmed.

_Greetings, Commander, in these dark times. I take up my pen and scroll to invite you to the open-air memorial for Eir Stegalkin. Please join us as we mourn and celebrate this legendary hero._

_The Stonewright's Steading in Hoelbrak, where Eir lived, will be consecrated for this purpose._

_Wishing you easy passage,_

_—Knut Whitebear_

Conlaeth exhaled slowly, reading over the invitation again. She had not forgotten Eir’s death, per se, but in the midst of everything it was one of the things that had turned hazy and indistinct in her mind, and subsequently been pushed into the ever-growing category of _things to resolve later._ Apparently for this at least, later had come. “How old is this letter?” she asked quietly.

“Uhh, few days… I think?” Somheirle answered tentatively, caught off guard by her sudden shift in mood. He leaned forward ever so slightly, like he was trying to surreptitiously get a glimpse at the letter’s contents.

“Great. I’m going to Hoelbrak.” She stood and dropped the letter unceremoniously onto the table, imagining it would be quickly absorbed into Somheirle’s catalogue of information.

Somheirle drummed his fingers nervously on the table as he looked her over. “Are you… are you sure you’re-”

“I can’t hide here forever, not when the world keeps turning.” She took up her sword again, ran her fingers along the narrow belt affixed to the sheath to assure herself it had not suffered in its disuse. “In fact,” she added, scanning the room. “We've been here too long already. Once I'm gone clear it out and don't come back.” When she glanced his way Somheirle looked like he desperately wanted to argue but couldn't think of a good case. “Go _home,_ Sonny. I'll- hm.” No private residence, no Pact lodgings, and now no safe house. “I'll… figure something out.”

 

-//-

 

**1323 -** **_The Vigilant Hills, Gendarran Fields_ **

Getting to Vigil Keep without taking the asura gate from Divinity’s Reach to Lion’s Arch had roughly tripled Conlaeth’s travel time, but it has seemed preferable to the alternative. At the tail end of a week’s travel, she took her leave of the supply caravan she had accompanied from Ascalon Settlement to the Almuten Estates, and made her way north alone on a crisp, early morning, before the sun had even crested the horizon. It was not until well into the afternoon that the vast expanse of the Keep finally came into view as the forest thinned around her, and as she took in the towering fortifications, flags emblazoned with the Vigil seal snapping in the high winds far above her, she felt a thrill of anticipation in her chest. She walked along the edge of a clearing on the shore of a shallow lake created by the fort, which doubled as a dam on Lake Gendarr. Nestled in the shadow of the fortress, logs were stacked in heaps around a massive saw that seemed to be of charr design, and a handful of Vigil soldiers were running at least a dozen less armored individuals through a series of combat moves. Only one of the soldiers glanced curiously Conlaeth’s way as she passed, but she moved toward the Keep with a certain degree of certainty, and he was clearly too occupied with training to interfere.

Joining the order had never, until that moment, been about anything beyond personally exacting her revenge on Zhaitan, but as Conlaeth ascended the wide, steep ramp leading up to the upper courtyard, the stark authority of the Keep inspired a certain awe and excitement in her she had not anticipated. A human stepped forward and held up a hand to stop her at the top of the ramp, and remembering her treatment at the hands of the recruiter in Divinity’s Reach, she steeled herself to go on the defensive again. “How can I help you, citizen?” the man asked.

“I’m here to enlist,” she stated matter-of-factly.

“Oh, are you now?” He seemed surprised, but there was none of the recruiter’s reproach or dismissal in his tone. “And you came all the way out here for that?”

Conlaeth snorted. “Well they didn’t seem all that eager to have me in the Reach, so I thought it was worth a try.”

The guard hesitated for a moment, brow furrowed, before he simply said “I see” and turning to beckon to someone behind him. A norn woman approached, and while she stood at least two heads taller than the man, she stooped and braced her hands on her knees so he could speak to her in a quiet tone. Conlaeth couldn’t make out the words that passed between them, but eventually the man addressed her again. “I apologize if our constituents in Divinity’s Reach were anything less than helpful. But since you're here you can speak to the registrar, and if you're approved we'll put you through the basic training before placing you with a mentor. I can't make any promises, but most of our less experienced recruits start out on infrastr-”

“What? No.” Conlaeth glanced toward the parapet to her left, which overlooked the training grounds below, and the thought of learning basic combat alongside a bunch of untested farmers and fishermen immediately rankled her. “I know how to _fight,”_ she continued, punctuating the comment with a twirl of her wrist that sent a tongue of flame momentarily snaking around her hand. “Just put me on the front lines and let me prove it. I'm not here to help the Lionguard stack _sandbags.”_

“I appreciate that you're eager,” the man laughed, holding out his hands again as if to temper her enthusiasm, “but that's out of the question. You'll follow the same recruitment procedures as everyone else.”

Conlaeth wrinkled her nose in disgust. “This is ridiculous.”

“This is _protocol._ If you can't handle that, then maybe the Vigil isn't the right match for you.”

That brought her up short. She ran a hand through her hair and shot another sour look toward the clearing below, then with a long, dejected sigh, she conceded, “tell me who to talk to.”

 

-//-

 

**1328 -** **_Hoelbrak_ **

In the end ‘figuring something out’ proved easier said than done, as Conlaeth was not eager to have her name on anyone's guestbook or tenant list just yet, but for the time being, at least, the great lodge was not opposed to her tucking her pack into a corner for the brief time she would be in the city. Some brief inquiries amongst the locals confirmed she had arrived a day ahead of the memorial, and she quickly regretted leaving herself that much time unoccupied--while she was glad to finally be able to stretch her legs and the Shiverpeaks air was refreshingly bracing, it quickly proved difficult to keep from getting lost in her own head as she wandered the spacious city. She agonized over the question of where Su had come from and where she was now, she was uneasy turning every corner and tensed any time she was recognized (which, at least, happened far less now that the densely layered leaves of her hair fell around her face and shoulders, a fact which she mentally filed away for later).

When she finally ascended the hill to Eir’s once-home and studio, she was already feeling strained. As she approached the proud and towering form of Knut Whitebear, she tugged the collar of her coat closer around her throat and rested an idle hand on the hilt of her sword, drawing at least some small bit of confidence from its familiar weight at her hip. “I'm glad you made it,” Whitebear called down to her.

“Of course,” she replied, falling into step beside him as he turned to head back up the hill. “I wouldn't miss this.”

“There are many here hoping _you_ can offer some sort of… explanation. Some kind of closure.” As they reached the entrance to Eir’s homestead Conlaeth glanced up at him, her expression doubtful, but before she could react he went on, “of course, there's no singular answer to _why,_ is there? Please, make yourself comfortable. Your tribune friend certainly has.”

“Oh-” Conlaeth leaned over to look past Whitebear’s form into the interior, immediately picking out the large, familiar shape of Rytlock as he spoke animatedly to a small gathering of norn. As she scanned the group, then turned to look over those assembled in the courtyard, she failed to spot another familiar figure she had expected to see. Turning back to Whitebear, she said, “where’s Braham?”

“Hmm,” Whitebear sighed. “Mourning in his own way, I imagine. After he arranged this he took to the mountains to-”

“He’s not here?” Conlaeth looked around the courtyard a second time, incredulous. “Sorry,” she added, turning sharply back to Whitebear. “He _arranged_ this? And he’s not _here?”_

“You must understand, the boy is young and incredibly driven-”

“Sure, that’s a word for it.” Conlaeth ran her fingers through her hair and huffed. It wasn’t that she was particularly disappointed at his absence, but if the past was any indication, his reckless behavior would become her problem before long. “Well if he gets himself killed it’ll be one less thing I have to worry about.” That earned her a couple side-long looks from the nearest mourners, and Whitebear lips flattened into a thin line as he grappled between wanting to speak his mind or keep the atmosphere quietly polite. “I’m. _Kidding,_ of course. Excuse me,” Conlaeth appended, offering him a wan smile and making a mental note that perhaps his mother’s memorial was the wrong place to be expressing her personal opinions on Braham.

She moved inside before Whitebear could say anything more, approaching Rytlock at the tail end of what sounded like a fairly lively story. “Well, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of escape,” he was saying, the crowd transfixed around him, “even to his death; she shot him before he hit the ground!” The crowd erupted into triumphant cheers and bellowed laughter as he looked up and spotted Conlaeth. “Oh- hey Commander!”

Conlaeth winced. She hated to let go of the title, but the address felt like salt in an open wound. As she was about to answer a memory sprang unbidden to the front of her mind-- _We spoke to everyone who was present, only two of them seemed entirely confident in your actions--_ and her gut twisted with resentment. “I’m sorry, haven’t you _heard,_ Tribune?” she asked, folding her hands behind her back and bouncing once on the balls of her feet. “I’m _retired_ now.”

A low, disapproving growl emanated from Rytlock’s throat. “Yeah, I heard,” he rumbled. “Didn’t really _believe_ it though. What the hell would make you, of all people, leave the Pact?”

He really had no idea. Somehow that only frustrated Conlaeth all the more. After a moment’s consideration she simply said, her tone carefully measured, “moral ambiguity.”

Rytlock’s tail twitched behind him as he considered her. “That supposed to mean something to me?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“Hey!” Their standoff was interrupted by a norn child, who had come running up as the crowd around them thinned. “You’re that Rytlock Trombone, right?”

“Oh, looks like you have a fan.” Conlaeth smiled as Rytlock shot her an imploring look, and tossed him a loose salute as she deftly extricated herself from the conversation.

As she moved back outside, the last thing she heard from him was “yeah, close enough, now why don't you do Uncle Trombone a favor and buzz off.”

She walked a circuit around the courtyard, doing her best to stay engaged and polite as she fielded questions about the jungle, the dragon, Eir’s life and death. She appreciated when Skaald Alfhildr would launch into another story of Eir’s early life, as she commanded attention and took the pressure off Conlaeth, but the stories never seemed to last long enough for her to fully recover her bearings. At some point someone pressed a mug of something hot into her hands, and when she caught the sharp edge of alcohol under the fruity fragrance it gave off, she gladly swallowed half of it then and there. That proved to be slightly ill-advised, as the resulting lightness in her head, combined with her already depleted energy and the dull ache that was started to crawl up her side from being on her feet, meant she soon had to retreat to the edges of the conversation, and eventually found herself leaning against the rough-hewn wooden fence that bordered the north side of the courtyard. From that point her mingling became restricted to only those that specifically wandered over her way, which largely proved to be those with prying questions that they thought were deeply important.It was as she was explaining to one of the norn, with admirable patience, she thought, that sylvari were no more danger now than they had been before Mordremoth’s awakening--no really, most had not been at risk to begin with, yes, she was thoroughly confident that the threat had been dealt with, yes she _had_ dealt the killing blow herself, that was true--that a shout went up from down the hill. “What’s going on?” Rytlock demanded as he emerged from inside, followed by his former audience. Conlaeth turned in time to see Rox making her way ponderously up the hill toward the homestead, but the shaggy black form that plodded along at the charr’s heel was unexpected and jarring enough to trip Conlaeth up and defy immediate comprehension.

“Garm!”

“Garm’s alive!”

As several norn rushed past her to greet the new arrivals, Conlaeth quickly fitted the pieces together. She set her now mostly empty mug aside and rose cautiously to her feet, resisting the urge to wrap an arm around her side as she straightened and moved to join the crowd. “Rox, you- you _found_ him?”

Rox, already looking baffled by the reception, glanced up at the sound of Conlaeth’s voice. “Commander? What are you… what is all this?”

“A memorial,” Conlaeth laughed, gesturing at the crowd, at the spread of food and drink behind her. “We couldn’t have _planned_ a better main event.”

“How did you find him?” one of the norn prompted eagerly, which seemed to open the floodgates to a flurry of other questions. _“Where_ did you find him?” “Was he with Eir when she died?” “Is he wounded?”

Rox absorbed the questions with a weary bemusement that Conlaeth found tragically familiar, struggling to offer answers. “I… wasn’t expecting all this,” she admitted. “Garm is hurt, and we’re both tired and hungry.”

“I can send for a healer,” Whitebear said, waving the crowd away to give Rox and Garm space. “Go on, there will be time for questions. In the meantime, there is plenty of food.”

Rytlock guided Rox away to a quieter corner with some muttered reassurances, while Garm was coaxed away to be cared for. When Conlaeth was certain the excitement had ebbed for the time being, she made her way cautiously over to the two charr.

“Commander- or, uh,” Rox started uncertainly as she joined their side. “The Tribune was just telling me you’re… not with the Pact anymore?”

“No,” Conlaeth sighed, massaging her temple. “Is that really the most interesting topic at hand right now?”

“Well… He was also telling me he’s been considering founding a new guild.”

Conlaeth blinked, then turned an inquiring eye on Rytlock. “Oh?”

Rytlock exhaled a sharp puff of air, which steamed in the cold mountain air. “I’ve just been thinking… with Logan and Zojja out of commission, we already lost Snaff, and now Eir, and Caithe is…” He ended that statement with a noncommittal hand gesture. “Just, there really is no Destiny’s Edge anymore.”

“Zojja and Logan could still recover,” Conlaeth offered, though she failed to put enough energy behind it to feel wholly convinced by her own words. “Is this really the time to be… disbanding _Eir’s_ guild?”

“Eir wouldn’t want us getting caught up in the past,” Rytlock insisted, before turning his gaze specifically to Conlaeth. “The point is, I think Tyria would sleep a lot sounder with the _dragon slayer_ at the head of something again.” Maybe Conlaeth was too tired to keep the sudden spike of temptation out of her expression, because when she didn’t immediately respond he pressed on, determined. “You _know_ we could do a lot of good. Our little group practically went head to head with Mordremoth without any help.”

Conlaeth answered that with a dry laugh, but she stopped herself from pointing out that it was she, Caithe, and Canach who had gone ‘head to head’ with the jungle dragon. She was not enamored with the idea of following Rytlock, of all people, into a new endeavor, but still the possibility of once again leading something significant tugged at her like a lure. “I… don’t know, Rytlock,” she said reluctantly, and he looked as if he might try one last time when Rox, who had been examining the crowd, abruptly interjected.

“Hey- I. Sorry, but isn’t Braham here?”

“Ah, right. _No_ he is not,” Conlaeth seized the change of topic as she rolled her eyes toward Rox. “Apparently he decided the best way to honor his mother was to miss her memorial and run off into the mountains _alone_ to… what, blow off steam?”

Rox dipped her head, her ears flicking uncertainly. “Oh. Well, once Garm is recovered maybe we can try to catch up to him.”

“I think your efforts could be better spent somewhere else.”

“Now, hold on.” Rox lifted her chin again, bristling slightly as she tapped some last reserve of defiant energy. “You can’t really mean that.”

Conlaeth took a slow, deliberate breath. “Rox I really don’t want to have this argument with you-”

“Then don’t. I can’t just leave him to the icebrood. I’m not asking you to come but I am _telling_ you I'm going after him.” Garm gave a sharp bark behind her, drawing her attention away from the conversation as she stepped away to check on him.

Conlaeth shot Rytlock a look that said _do something_ , but the quiet growl he responded with suggested he had no intention of involving himself in that debate. Instead, after a brief hesitation, he said, “so… what happened to you?”

“Uh- sorry?” Conlaeth raised her brows, taken aback by the question.

“Look, you may think you’re being subtle about it, and maybe everyone else is polite enough not to say anything, but I guarantee there isn’t a single person here who doesn’t know how an injured warrior walks. Not to mention…” He leaned his head down, looking her over critically. _“I_ know the face of someone who’s being hunted, and it’s not a good look on you.”

“Well Tribune, it sounds like you’ve nearly got it all figured out on your own,” Conlaeth replied curtly, doing her best to ignore the sudden complicated tangle of emotions the inquiry inspired. She didn’t appreciate being pressed about her personal business, and she resented the fact that Rytlock had read her so easily, but the fact that her fear was apparently so obviously written in her features, even when it wasn't forefront in her mind? It only served to unsettle her further.

“You're really gonna stand there and criticize Braham for not communicating with the rest of us and then turn around and do the same thing?”

“That's not even _remotely-”_ Rytlock stopped her short with another very pointed look. “It's not the same,” she insisted, though her defiance was edging toward petulance. Rytlock just snorted and pressed no further.

Conlaeth sighed. She wished someone would bring her another drink, and she had begun calculating the quietest way she could leave the event when someone across the courtyard, prompted by some other conversation thread, shouted, “a toast! To Eir!” The cheer was quickly taken up until most everyone present was raising flasks and tankards in a chorus of “to Eir!” When the skaald locked eyes with her, Conlaeth’s heart sank, and she had no opportunity to excuse herself before Alfhildr called, “Commander! Perhaps you could say a few words!”

“I really… I don’t think that’s a good…” Conlaeth began weakly, but her protests were drowned out by the encouragement of those nearest her.

“It would be an honor.”

“Please, you were there when she died.”

“If anyone could speak to her legacy…”

The crowd did not seem at all likely to be dissuaded, no matter how reluctant Conlaeth looked. She took a slow breath as the chatter slowly lapsed into expectant silence. “I don't… I wish I had something meaningful prepared, I really do.” She rubbed her eyes, reaching deep into her thoughts for something that would satisfy the crowd and coming up tragically short. “I can't justify what happened. Mordremoth took more from us than anyone anticipated, and it wasn't fair and it wasn't poetic. Eir died for someone else's mistakes, and someone else's cowardice. She deserved better.” A somber, uncertain murmur rippled through the crowd at this, but Conlaeth was listless.

Just then Rytlock stepped past her to address the audience. “But we can't change the past,” he said. “We can't right others’ wrongs. That was a lesson Eir had to learn, and now it's time for us to do the same. We move forward, we face our opposition, and we hold _nothing_ back. We fight. We win, and we _live_ so that her sacrifice meant something.” For the span of a breath the audience was silent. Then someone raised raised their fist to the sky and called, “here here!” Within seconds the rest followed, with echoes of “for Eir!” and “cheers!” As they crowded around the charr to praise his commentary, Conlaeth seized the opportunity. She sidestepped the crowd until she faced the path down to hill, and when she was certain no one’s attention was immediately on her, she made a hasty retreat toward the gate separating the property from the rest of Hoelbrak.

 

She spent the rest of the day in a quiet corner of the great lodge, brooding her way through another drink while trying, and for the most part failing, to mentally draft a letter to Somheirle regarding her next course of action. She didn’t notice Rox’s approach until the charr was already standing beside the table she had staked out for herself, fidgeting uneasily.

“That was… an interesting speech you gave, Commander,” she said, her tone deceptively even.

“Yeah,” Conlaeth agreed flatly. “Well public speaking was never exactly in my wheelhouse.”

“You walked out on the memorial.” Accusation crept into Rox’s voice that time. Conlaeth eyed her expectantly but said nothing, and at length she added, “the same memorial you judged _Braham_ for missing.”

“Ah,” Conlaeth settled back in her chair, chuckling bitterly. “You’ve been talking to our dear Tribune. Look, if you came here to weasel some kind of explanation out of me, don’t waste your-”

“I didn’t.”

Conlaeth faltered. “… Oh.”

Rox’s ears flicked as she considered her next words. “If you want to keep your business _your_ business, that’s your call. Just… just remember the things and the _people_ you’re already committed to.” She produced a letter from a pocket of her coat, and slid it across the table toward Conlaeth. “A courier brought that to the Steading after you’d already left.”

Conlaeth rubbed a hand over her face and flipped the letter over to read the sender’s name. “One of my many commitments, it would seem,” she sighed, offering Rox a weak smile. She wasn’t entirely sure whether she’d been aiming for a sarcastic comment or an honest attempt at humor, but Rox only responded with an uncertain hum.

“I’ll… be in touch, Commander,” she said, dipping her head slightly in deference before taking her leave. Conlaeth let her go unchallenged, and shifted her focus to the letter instead.

_Hi, hi, hi! I've got something fantabulous to show you. Get here as soon as you can. There's a gate set up in Rata Sum, but it's top secret. Fortunately, you know me._

_Go to Rata Sum and look for the Adventure Aide ZK496i golem. It knows to let you in._

_—Taimi_

 

-//-

 

**1324 -** **_Vigil Keep_ **

“Again! Learn to see every opening, if your opponent has the upper hand the fight is already over.”

Conlaeth rolled her eyes, but she adjusted her grip on the training sword and stepped back, watching the soldier’s movements carefully. They circled each other for a moment before she saw her chance when he lowered his shield to prepare a strike of his own, and with a deft turn and a quick step forward she moved in past his guard to tag his shoulder--if the blade had been sharp, his shield arm would be useless. He had committed to his swing, but Conlaeth retreated as quickly as she had advanced, and as his attack went wide she dodged behind him and leveled her blade between the jointed plates of his armor--a solid thrust from a proper sword would have gutted him. He fell back, lowering his weapon, and turned to the other recruits standing at the side of the ring.

“Did everyone catch that? It was an excellent maneuver.”

“I know,” Conlaeth muttered, twirling the sword in her hand. The blade was broader than she preferred, but she had grown accustomed to the extra weight quickly.

The soldier turned toward her, and though most of his face was obscured by his helmet his posture was authoritative, slightly challenging. “Excuse me?”

“I know it was _good. I_ know what I’m _doing,”_ Conlaeth snapped. She swung the sword out toward the other recruits, a few of whom shrank back slightly as if sensing the implied accusation, and stared at them down the blade for a moment before turning back to their teacher. “Over a month of this pageantry and I haven’t learned _anything.”_

“If you have a complaint to voice about the training regimen, this is neither the time nor the-” the soldier began, but he stopped abruptly when Conlaeth jabbed the sword into the ground, where it sank an inch or two into the soil and stuck.

“You’re right,” she said. “I don’t need to be here.”  As she stalked away from the clearing an excited whisper went up from the other recruits.

The soldier followed for a few paces before calling after her, “hey! Fall in line, we’re not done yet!” Conlaeth disregarded the order.

 

-//-

 

**1328 -** **_Rata Novus_ **

“At ease, she’s on the list.”

Conlaeth stepped down from the swirling magitech field of the asura gate and hesitated a moment, having to quickly adjust to a sudden buzzing sensation that seemed to vibrate down from her skull through the rest of her body. She grimaced slightly and flexed her fingers as she fought down a sense of unease, sweeping her eyes over the expanse of the lab before her. Compared to her previous visits, the bustling activity was a startling shift, even here in the entrance hall where the only order of business seemed to be gate management, and she wondered how much of this had been orchestrated by Taimi herself. As she descended the ramp someone to her left said, “welcome back, ma’am. Taimi will be here momentarily.”

Conlaeth stopped abruptly, turning toward the guard who had addressed her. “‘Ma’am?’”

A wave of panicked horror passed over the young asura’s face. “I- I apologize, I was informed you were no longer acting as P-”

Conlaeth cut him off with a short bout of laughter. “No, no,” she said, “you’re right. So that news made it out here? _Before_ Hoelbrak?”

“Uh.” The guard’s gaze wandered searchingly past her, and she waved him off dismissively as she proceeded into the entrance hall.

As she approached the sizeable console that controlled the gate’s operations, there was a deep mechanical whirr--on her right, this time--and she turned as one of the battered Rata Novus golems shambled to its feet. “Security — breach — detected,” it croaked, taking a rather menacing step in Conlaeth’s direction.

“What? Wait!” A panicked technician trailed after it as it advanced, then seemed to reconsider and took a step back. “What are you doing?”

“Responding — with — full — force,” the golem provided. Conlaeth’s hand went instinctively to her sword as she retreated several paces, though she had some doubts as to how far one blade and no magic would get her. She need not have worried, however, as four steps was apparently all the golem had in it, and on the fifth its leg buckled and it tumbled forward harmlessly.

“Oh- oh no, and the repairs were progressing so well,” the technician grumbled, edging doubtfully toward the crumpled machine.

“Hey! What’s going on?” Taimi’s voice sounded from farther down the hall. “The Commander’s approved, you know that!”

“Taimi your robots don’t seem to care for me,” Conlaeth called to her as she came scurrying unsteadily toward them, Rytlock lumbering close behind. Then to the technician, she added, “and what, precisely, would have happened here if this pile of scrap was actually to spec?”

“I- well I’m certain we would have found a way to disable it before that became an issue,” he replied meekly, and when Conlaeth narrowed her eyes at him dubiously he shrank back and suddenly became deeply interested in a panel on the golem’s side.

Conlaeth turned away without another word, crossing the remaining distance to Tami in a few strides to meet her beside the gate terminal. “I’m really sorry about that,” Taimi offered in a hurry, “all this crunchy old tech’s been getting overstimulated by the influx of magic, but I’m glad you’re here!”

“Uh-huh.” Conlaeth spared a momentary glance back toward the golem, as if to say _so am I_ , before she shifted her attention to Rytlock. “Well I got your letter. I didn’t realize you wrote… both of us.”

“I would have tried to get everyone, but… they’ve been difficult to reach. How have you been? I heard the mission was a success, but…” Taimi regarded her with what might have been concern, or pity, before shifting her gaze uncertainly toward the gate terminal instead. “I mean, with Marshal Trahearne, and…”

“A necessary sacrifice,” Conlaeth replied curtly, resisting the urge to try another accusatory glare on Rytlock. It had not been especially rewarding the first time.

“Sure, of course, I trust your judgement. But… did you really lea-”

“Progeny!” Conlaeth winced at the familiar coarse tone of Counselor Phlunt’s voice, and a low growl from Rytlock told her she was not alone in her instinctive reaction. She turned to face the grizzled asura as he approached the group, his features settled into the same sour scowl Conlaeth had come to assume was just his default expression.

“Oh, good,” she said, flashing him an empty smile, “after that threat from the golem I was so looking forward to being needled to death by a politician instead.”

Phlunt sneered, and was about to say something when Taimi cut in instead, with a performative exclamation of “don’t be silly Commander! Phlunt is a respected guest and a valuable contributor to our research efforts here!”

“You can save your petty insults _and_ your empty praise,” Phlunt spat, crossing his arms. “None of it impresses me. Have there been any new developments today?”

After a moment of exaggerated consideration, Taimi said, “why no, none that I can think of, Counselor.”

Phlunt regarded her dubiously. “Allow me to remind you, progeny, that if you attempt to keep secr-”

“Ookay, yes, thank you Counselor,” Conlaeth interrupted this time. “I don’t believe you’re needed here.” Taimi gasped, and there was a tense second of silence as the comment hung in the air between the small group. Then Rytlock let out a sharp huff of laughter.

“If- if _you_ think,” Phlunt sputtered, jabbing a finger in her direction, “that you have any manner of authority to dictate where _I’m_ needed, when you’re no longer even-”

“Please be reasonable, _sir_ ,” Conlaeth proceeded, unfazed as she folded her hands behind her back, “Taimi has already assured you she has nothing to report, and since we all know how dedicated she is to scientific progress of course you can trust that she wouldn’t _hide_ something from you, don’t you think?”

“Well, I would certainly _hope-”_

“And since you’re _so_ eager for progress as well, certainly the last thing you would want to do is waste valuable time on _idle threats_ that we could be using to better effect?”

Phlunt hesitated, but under what remained of his mask of civility he seethed with indignation. “I suppose, perhaps,” he began, reluctance dripping from every syllable, “I could use the remainder of my visit to confer with other members of the team, to get a more well-rounded impression of the work going on here.”

“Excellent idea,” Conlaeth agreed. As Phlunt finally shuffled past them she sighed, rolling her eyes to land on Taimi.

The young asura waited a beat, glanced back over her shoulder to check that Phlunt had descended to the lab below, then said quietly but excitedly, “I’m totally hiding something from him.”

Conlaeth smiled. “Naturally.”

Taimi clambered up the few low steps to the gate terminal. “I’ve kept the dragon lab almost completely under wraps by reconfiguring the gate, which lets _me_ keep digging into the ley lines and the dragons without any… interference.” Her small hands danced over the console as she spoke, her eyes bright with focus and a sudden energy. “On the logs it’ll just look like a jump to the command center, but in _reality…”_ She tossed the others a conspiratorial grin as she entered some final command, and the swirling surface of the gate shimmered and warped ever so slightly, retargeting the teleportation field to a new destination. “That’s our cue,” Taimi chirped, stepping down from the console and making her way to the gate. Conlaeth and Rytlock wordlessly fell into step behind her, until they had all crossed the threshold and entered, apparently, Taimi’s secret laboratory.

Conlaeth had managed to push the buzzing to the back of her mind, but it redoubled the instant they stepped through the gate, and her shoulders tensed as she tried not to look outwardly distressed by it. She turned in a circle as she moved further into the new area, studying the architecture, the spread of various screens and other interfaces, the rock formations that surrounded them. It was tidier now than when they had first found it, but she had a hard time imagining Taimi working this entire space single-handedly. “Now that all this subterfuge and political tiptoeing is done,” Rytlock griped at her side, “can we get to why we’re actually here?”

“Yes! I have a lot to fill you guys in on.” Taimi moved to the nearest terminal and picked up a small handheld device, which flickered to life under her fingers as the screens in front of her lit up. She directed their attention first to a map of the ley lines, much like the one they had found at Tarir. “I’m sure you remember this, right Commander?”

Conlaeth tilted her head as she studied the map. She had certainly not commited the first one perfectly to her memory, but still… “It looks different.”

“Exactly! I’ve been tracking the flow of magic, after Mordremoth’s death everything went into total chaotic flux.” She pointed up to one of the larger points on the map, though it was far above her head. “That’s the egg chamber back in Tarir, it lit up like a firework, I assume right after the dragon went bye-bye. I’m not sure what that means yet, but as you can see,” she took a few steps to her left, and the second screen resolved into an image of the crystalline egg they had left back in the golden city, “the egg is doing great!”

“Is that a live feed?” Conlaeth’s brows arched in surprise as she studied the egg.

“I think the Rata Novans helped the Exalted design Tarir’s security systems,” Taimi offered as an explanation. “The technology has a lot of the same signatures.”

“And you hacked into it?” Rytlock added, “to look at an egg?”

Taimi frowned, puffing her chest out indignantly. “I utilized the resources at my disposal,” she clarified. “To _check_ on the egg.”

“Could you… access _any_ of Tarir’s security..?” Conlaeth asked.

“Uhh, I can’t imagine why you’d want to,” Taimi replied cautiously, then before either of the others could say anything else she added, “anyway! Come look at- oh. That’s weird.” She looked back up at the ley line map just as she had been about to walk away from it. “Looks like the northern Bloodstone is flaring up, I’ll have to watch that.” She studied it pensively for a moment longer, before turning away to lead them across the lab to something else. “I’m trying to model the patterns of the energy flow,” she said as she walked, “but that map isn’t designed for really detailed readings… yet. Now then, look at this!” She arrived at one of the tables toward the back, and raised her hands up to indicate a tall glass tube that appeared to be filled with a viscous fluid, in which a strange organ of some kind floated.

Rytlock gave a suspicious sniff. “What is it?”

“Well… since the others don’t know about this lab, I couldn’t exactly ask for defenses to be installed, and now and then when the lab is drawing a lot of power the chak find their way in.”

“You get _chak_ down here?” Conlaeth gasped. “Taimi-”

“Hey! Not to toot my own warbler, but I can handle a big nasty bug now and then.” Taimi beamed proudly, before turning her attention back to the specimen tube. _“This_ is some kind of organ I harvested from one of the bigger ones. It’s part of their digestive system, and since they feed on ley energy, it got me curious and I decided to run some tests. I can’t… really explain any of the results yet, but when I ran some ley energy through the organ it came out… different.”

“How-” The vibrations in the air thrummed even harder and Conlaeth winced, gritting her teeth and pressing her palm to her temple.

“Are you- wait, did you hear that?” Rytlock’s claws scraped on the stone floor as he turned abruptly, at the same moment a distorted screech and the rattle of loose stones signalled the arrival of a wave of chak. In a blur of motion Rytlock was across the lab without another word, sword drawn as he lay into the attacking creatures. Conlaeth was not so quick to respond, but as one of the drones slipped past Rytlock’s defense and charged toward the table she drew her sword and turned to face it, stabbing toward the softer flesh around its head segment. Her reaction time was off and the attack glanced off its shell, then as it reared back to slash at her with its sharp forelimbs she threw her empty hand out without thinking, in an attempt to call up a rift to interrupt it. Instead flames erupted across the creature’s body and it screeched, staggering away several paces before collapsing to the ground, flailing wildly for several seconds before growing still. Conlaeth’s entire arm reverberated like she’d just been electrocuted and her vision doubled before she screwed her eyes shut to steady herself. “More incoming!” she heard Rytlock call. “It ain’t naptime yet!”

She dared to open her eyes again as she heard the clattering of a second wave, and found herself facing the bristling spines and bright red face of an advancing zapper. She had at least enough wits about her to dart out toward the more open space where Rytlock had engaged the main force, leading the chak away from Taimi. As energy began to crackle and coalesce protectively around its form she raised her hand again and prayed for the best. Electricity arced from her toward the chak, and it shuddered as its shield overloaded, dispersing in a burst that sent Conlaeth staggering backward several steps and knocked the air out of her. The chak seized the opportunity and advanced, and in a wave of frustration Conlaeth kicked out, catching the side of the creature’s spined crest and knocking it off balance. As its legs scrabbled for purchase she drove her sword through the soft red membrane of its head, then jerked the blade sharply to the side until she heard something crack. She braced her boot against the hard carapace and pulled her weapon loose, but as she turned her attention upward Rytlock was already neatly dispatching the last of the invading insects, a dozen or so already lying dead at his feet. He stepped over the bodies to rejoin the others, but slowed as his eyes landed on Conlaeth--working to catch her breath, her shoulders drooping as she pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to bring her mind and vision back into focus--then drifted to the scorched chak body near her. All he said, at length, was, “back to the old classics, huh?”

It took Conlaeth a moment to understand what he meant, then she responded with a weak, humorless laugh. “Well I wouldn’t want to upstage you, Tribune,” she remarked, her gaze still locked on the ground at her feet before she braved a look toward Taimi. “How… how often do you have to fight them off like that?”

“Like _that?_ Never,” Taimi admitted, sounding a bit shaken. “Maybe… they’re drawn to the organ? Since I transplanted it into the blighting pod fluid, maybe it’s still-”

“You _what?”_ Conlaeth had been scanning the immediate area for something to clean the red goo off her blade, but her eyes snapped back to Taimi.

“I- well I needed to keep it from just rotting away. The blighting fluid turned out to have amazing preservative properties--restorative, even!”

Rytlock growled, bristling as he padded back to his original position before the table. “So you put a dead chak bit into the goo that made mordrem monsters out of _corpses.”_

“You two worry too much,” Taimi insisted. “I have to stay ahead of everyone outside this lab, and that means taking a few risks. For science! Uhm, although.” She glanced back toward the gate they had entered through. “Speaking of risks, I can’t afford to stay away from the main lab for too long, we should head back.” Rytlock regarded the chak organ again with obvious suspicion before grunting his concession. He turned away toward the gate, but as Conlaeth was about to follow him, Taimi added, “actually- Commander. Can I talk to you? Just for a second.” Conlaeth and Rytlock exchanged a look--Rytlock’s knowing, Conlaeth’s uneasy--before the charr nodded his understanding and proceeding alone back to the gate. Conlaeth gave in and wiped the blade of her sword off on her sleeve, before sheathing it and pushing her sleeves up to her elbows. Finally she faced Taimi, who simply asked, “are you okay?”

Conlaeth sighed. There was no point in being coy after her show against the chak, but she wasn’t eager to offload her personal problems onto a child who had already taken on more than was probably wise. “It’s… fine, Taimi. You said yourself, there’s just too much magic in the air.”

“I know, but that doesn’t-”

“We should go,” Conlaeth insisted. “Do you really want Rytlock out there unsupervised?”

Taimi scowled like she wanted to argue, but after a second’s thought she yielded, “good point.”

 

-//-

 

**1324 -** **_Vigil Keep_ **

Stanton leaned back against the edge of his desk and took a thoughtful sip of his brandy, considering the taste for a moment as he watched Conlaeth pace across the modest office space before he finally spoke. “You can’t flat out walk out on your training and not expect there to be consequences. You've gotten away with a lot already, but the brass has to draw the line somewhere.” Another slow sip, though it seemed more for theatrics than anything. “And frankly? I think it's overdue.”

Conlaeth stopped abruptly, turning on him. “Is that supposed to scare me?”

“It’s _supposed_ to inspire a little retrospection,” Stanton insisted. “This is hardly your worst offense, is it?” He turned slightly to glance over his shoulder, setting his glass down on the desk to pick up a bound red folder instead. He shot Conlaeth a pointed look as he opened it, skimming the contents for a moment before continuing. “You're antagonistic, habitually late to training, half the time you refuse to follow orders and the other half you directly challenge what you're being taught-”

“Because _half the time_ your senior soldiers are _sloppy,”_ Conlaeth interjected.

“You got into a _fist fight_ with Atchison almost as soon as she was recalled from the Reach-”

“She took _one_ look at me,” Conlaeth spat, bristling, “and told me I was too _inexperienced_ to offer the Vigil anything! And she confronted _me,_ it never would have escalated if-”

“And finally,” Stanton raised his voice slightly, disregarding her defense, “you were accused of fraternizing with a senior officer.” He snapped the folder closed and looked up, now expectantly silent.

Conlaeth’s sucked in her breath in a weak hiss. “I don't have an excuse for that one.”

“I get it, you know. You’re used to being the one who calls the shots, but- oh don’t look so shocked.” Stanton laughed, and Conlaeth frowned, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. “Whatever you buried in your past is still buried, but it doesn’t take a genius to know you’re more accustomed to giving orders than taking them. You practically said as much on day one. But I hope you appreciate how tenuous your position is right now--you're _barely_ still in ‘disciplinary talk with your mentor’ territory. You could be a warrior to rival the General herself but if you don’t shape up and learn to work as part of a unit, it means nothing.”

I can _work_ with others!” Conlaeth insisted. “But you have to give me that chance, not waste my time. There has to be a better way to vet people, so your best prospects aren’t getting dragged down with everyone else.”

“Did you ever consider you’re not in those training sessions solely for your own benefit?”

Conlaeth opened her mouth to react, then closed it again as she turned the question over in her head a few times. “What?”

“Did you think it was luck that you were always the one doing demonstrations? If we only ever put inexperienced amateurs up against our trainers no one would ever learn anything.”

“Oh, so now I'm _teaching amateurs?”_ Conlaeth stalked away several paces, like she might leave then and there, before wheeling on him again. “Am I supposed to be appeased by that? _Flattered?”_

Stanton sighed wearily and gave her a resigned shrug. “It's about perspective, recruit, that's all. None of that matters now though, you only have two options at this point. You take the one and _only_ last chance we're offering you, and you prove you're the model soldier you keep promising you are. You blow us away, show us that you were worth the trouble and that we’d be sorry to lose you. Or you move on.”

Conlaeth was silent for a long few seconds as she considered those options. Really, only one of them was worth considering, but her every instinct pushed back furiously against the perceived indignity of being given an ultimatum. Before she could answer, however, Stanton spoke again.

“Can I ask you one more thing?”

“Yeah, fine, do your worst,” Conlaeth huffed.

“Who did you lose?” It was not at all what she was expecting, and all she could offer at first was a baffled look, until he went on, “the Vigil tends to attract very particular kinds of people. The would-be heroes, who think they’re doing the right thing whether or not they know what that means; the career soldiers, who don’t know anything else; and the people who have a personal score to settle against the dragons themselves. And those last ones… well, it’s not that hard to recognize each other. Whatever score you’re trying to settle, it’s not going to happen if you get yourself discharged.”

Again Conlaeth lapsed into a moody silence. Her hand wandered impulsively to the subtle outline of the pendant tucked away beneath the collar of her shirt--always hidden but never forgotten. At length she said only, “permission to go. Sir.”

Stanton nodded, waving toward the door. “Dismissed, recruit.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**1329 -** **_Rata Novus Main Lab_ **

The atmospheric buzzing ebbed immediately as they reentered the main lab, but even this change was disconcerting enough that Conlaeth’s pace faltered for just a moment. As Taimi passed her descending the steps, the asura cast a questioning look up at her, to which Conlaeth only uttered “don’t” under her breath.

Rytlock was at the far end of the entrance hall, eyes lowered as if he was observing the goings-on in the lab below. However as Conlaeth approached, she realized he was actually looking over a letter, which he promptly crushed into a rough ball and tossed aside. A small golem hurried over, sucking the discarded paper up into its form just as Conlaeth came up alongside the charr. “What was that?” she asked.

Rytlock started slightly, swinging his head around toward her. “Doesn’t matter,” he growled. “See? I can do it too.”

Conlaeth snorted, but she couldn't exactly argue the point. “Fair.”

“You know you just missed General Soulkeeper,” Rytlock offered after a moment’s silence.

“Oh, what a shame,” Conlaeth muttered, in a tone that said quite clearly she was not disappointed. Then, after a second, “wait, what was she doing  _ here?” _

Rytlock tilted his head toward the golem that had carried away his discarded letter. “She had that,” he said, then hefted his shoulders in a shrug. “Pact business, I don't know, I didn't ask.”

Before Conlaeth could remark on it further, there was a sudden commotion from the lab below. Conlaeth and Rytlock both tensed, but as Conlaeth peered down through the protective glass she couldn't make out what was actually happening. “What's going on?” came Taimi’s panicked voice behind her, and she shot the young asura a momentary glance, hoping it would communicate some degree of  _ well let's find out, _ before she drew her sword and descended the long switch-back ramp into the lab itself. The asura who passed her on their way out were in a frenzy, but she didn't understand why--as far as she could tell, the lab was in order--until one of them sprinted by shouting “help! Get the dragon man away from me!”

Conlaeth looked up in time to see the familiar broad-shouldered form of another sylvari resolve out of the quickly scattering crowd, standing well over the average height of those around him as he impatiently tried to wave away the few brave asura who had stood their ground to keep him from getting further into the lab. Phlunt stood at the outside of the defensive ring, fuming at the interruption to his business. “Taimi!” he shouted, peering around Conlaeth to where Taimi’s small form could be seen descending the ramp. “Is this another one of  _ your _ friends?”

“I’ll take it from here, Counselor,” Conlaeth laughed, sheathing her sword. The asuran guards backed down, following Phlunt as the counselor stormed away in a flurry of muttered criticisms, and Conlaeth turned her full attention to the newly arrived Canach. “Finally, someone I can  _ really _ talk to,” she sighed, her mood instantly beginning to climb back up from the pit of brooding she had allowed herself to settle into. “Unless the good Countess has finally taught you some manners."

“The day that happens I’ll eat my glove,” Canach replied dryly.

“What did you do to upset everyone down here?”

Canach sighed, shrugging theatrically as he looked back over his shoulder. “I came in through the caves because I couldn’t find the gate. Apparently that was extremely threatening.”

“No kidding. Did you  _ see _ that?” Taimi giggled in delight as she came up beside Conlaeth. “Phlunt was so mad his  _ fleas _ jumped ship! Canach, you’re my hero.”

“Honestly who else do you think we could get in here today?” Conlaeth glanced from Canach down to Taimi, then up to Rytlock’s approaching form. “Caithe? A couple of the Exalted? Maybe the  _ queen?” _

“Busy day, Commander?” Canach asked, drawing her attention again.

Conlaeth rolled her eyes. “You have no idea,” she griped, then as Rytlock joined their circle she sighed in resignation. “Also I’m  _ not _ commanding the Pact anymore, and I know you all know that. There’s really no reason for everyone to keep standing on ceremony."

“So that’s  _ true?” _ Taimi gasped. “Then- what do I call you now? Poobah?”

“You know what kiddo,” Conlaeth chuckled. “Knock yourself out. Now what are you doing here?” This last question she directed at Canach.

Canach straightened himself up, adopting a crisp and professional posture that Conlaeth knew he reserved only for the business he most resented doing. “I happen to be on the job for the  _ good Countess, _ as you so kindly put it.”

“Anise is still holding your leash?”

“Only until I can tidy up this latest mess. Minister Caudecus recently, eh…  _ left _ the queen’s protective custody, and Anise has entrusted me and a Shining Blade squadron to help him find his way back.” He paused, regarding Conlaeth thoughtfully for a moment as he rubbed a hand over his chin. “When I heard you weren’t tethered to the Pact anymore, I thought you might be interested in trying your hand at a little bounty hunting.”

Conlaeth clasped her hands behind her back again and rocked back on her heels as she considered the invitation. “Interesting proposal. Any idea where he’s headed?”

“There’s been a sudden spike in White Mantle activity up north, our intel is pointing us that way.”

“Oh!” Taimi piped up. “That could be the magical hot spot on the map, the Bloodstone!”

“That has your attention, does it?” Canach raised a brow at Conlaeth, and she took a frustrated second to push the sudden intrigue off her features before saying anything. She would need to stop projecting her unspoken thoughts to everyone if she wanted to have any secrets left.

“Hold on,” Rytlock rumbled, abruptly pulling the focus off Conlaeth. “I thought the minister said he wasn’t in bed with those mursaat-lovers.”

“He certainly did say that,” Canach agreed flatly.

“It’s worth investigating,” Conlaeth said, smoothing as much eagerness as she could out of her tone. “Rytlock, see if you can round up the others, it couldn’t hurt to have some tested allies behind us. Maybe you’ll get your damnable guild after all.”

“I knew you’d come around,” Rytlock laughed.

Conlaeth pointedly ignored the comment as she turned to Taimi. “Is there any way you can reach us quickly once we’re out of here?”

“There sure is!” Taimi chirped. “I already planted two-way communicators on you and Rytlock while we were down  _ you know where.” _

“Disconcerting,” Conlaeth replied without missing a beat, “but useful. Keep working on your research here, anything you can tell us about what’s happening up north could turn this in our favor.”

“You got it, Poobah.” Taimi straightened herself to her full height and offered a salute.

“Excellent. I already regret agreeing to that,” Conlaeth stated, finally turning her attention back to Canach with a thin smile.

“Is it safe to assume you’ve decided to accompany me?” he asked, the hint of a sly grin on his lips.

“Well it sounds more fun than whatever I had planned.” Conlaeth shrugged. “I’ll need to gate back to Hoelbrak for the rest of my gear, but we’ll have to make travel arrangements before we can-”

“Already taken care of,” Canach cut in, his smirk growing more self-satisfied. “We’ll have passage straight out of Rata Sum within two days.”

“With who..?”

Canach rolled his shoulders. “I suspect you’re not going to like it.”

 

-//-

 

**1321 -** **_Farshore Ward, Lion’s Arch_ **

“What do you know about this?” Conlaeth held the amulet out over the desk, the chain wrapped around her fingers so the pendant itself hung down before Somheirle’s curious eyes.

“I’ve never seen anyth-  _ oh. _ Huh.” He had reached out idly as if to take hold of it, then recoiled a second later like the idea of touching it had instantly become repulsive--in the same instant that Conlaeth pulled it back protectively out of his reach. There was an uncomfortable moment of silence as they both considered what had just happened. Conlaeth knew on the surface that she had no reason to fear Somheirle would steal from her, and she suspected her reluctance to release the amulet to him was not her own. “Where did it come from..?” Somheirle prompted at length.

“The  _ Vacant Heart.” _

Somheirle’s brows arched high in surprise. “Then why do  _ you  _ have it?”

Conlaeth ignored that question, slipping the chain over her head again and tucking the pendant away within the collar of her coat. She scanned the meager space that constituted Somheirle’s ‘office,’ then plucked a stick of charcoal and a relatively blank sheet of paper out of the general clutter on his desk. She quickly sketched out an approximation of the pendant’s design, then turned the paper around to face Somheirle. “Common wisdom would suggest it was made in Orr. I want to know what it is and what it does.”

Somheirle examined the sketch for a second, before flicking his gaze back up to meet hers. “That’s not a lot to go on.”

“Take all the time you need,” Conlaeth said, with a smile and an indulgent shrug. Then gesturing vaguely to encompass their surroundings, she added, “just remember who keeps this hole in the wall roof over your head.”

“Right.” Somheirle sighed, setting the paper aside and considering it for a second longer before looking up. He folded his hands in front of him on the desk, then offered her a smile of his own. “Whatever you need, Captain. I’ll be in touch as soon as I have anything.”

 

-//-

 

**1329 -** **_Vigil Recruitment Station, Rata Sum_ **

“I don’t like this, Canach.”

“So you've said.”

The  _ Pride of the Pact _ bobbed slightly against its tethers at the edge of the city, and as they approached Conlaeth could see that the deck and the surrounding area were alive with activity as the crew prepared to depart. She had already agreed--albeit with heavy reluctance--to accompany Canach aboard the Pact airship to reach the northern region of the jungle, but it hadn't quite set in until she was about to set foot on it how profoundly uncomfortable the trip was going to be. As if to drive that point home, General Soulkeeper stepped down the gangplank, looking over her shoulder as she called, “make sure that cargo is secured  _ right! _ I'm not interested in scraping any of you off the walls if we hit turbulence.”

Conlaeth turned away abruptly, before the general could catch sight of her, and took a few restive steps in the opposite direction as she tried to navigate her way through several emotions at once, none of them positive. “It had to be her  _ personal _ ship,” she muttered, rolling her eyes up toward the sky as she absently adjusted one of her bracers.

“General!” Canach called from her side, and Conlaeth swore at him under her breath as she dragged a hand down her face. “We’re ready to take off as soon as you are.”

“Good, good,” Soulkeeper replied, her voice growing louder as she approached them. “Won’t be long now. The rest of your contingent is already aboard.”

Conlaeth turned again to face her, no longer able to pretend she was otherwise occupied, and offered the charr a deceptively bright smile as she said, “General,  _ good _ to see you.”

“Conlaeth,” Soulkeeper nodded her own greeting, expending no extra effort to seem personable. Conlaeth tensed--as much as she resented the constant reminder that came with having ‘Commander’ thrown at her so often, the fact that her former leader had abandoned the title so readily somehow stung even more. “How’s retirement treating you?” the general continued.

“Oh, never a dull moment, no telling when the world might be ending again,” Conlaeth said, the casual note in her voice becoming obviously strained. Then in a moment of spite she added, “tell me, how’s the  _ restructure _ going? Any promising prospects for the Marshal’s seat?”

Soulkeeper narrowed her eyes slightly, but beyond that her reaction was admirably reserved. “We’re still considering our options,” she said slowly.

“Well I’m sure you’ll make the right choice.”

All Soulkeeper offered in response, after a second’s hesitation, was, “indeed.” She turned without another word and padded back to the ship, flinging a few orders at her crew as she climbed the gangplank and disappeared inside.

Conlaeth exhaled a heavy breath, shaking the tension out of her arms as she tried to steel herself to spend the entire afternoon avoiding another exchange like that. Just as she was about to start moving again, Canach said, “so… the Pact really axed you, hm?”

She glanced sidelong at him before doing a double-take a second later. “What? Who gave you that idea?”

“No one,” he replied pointedly. “Unless you count you, with that whole performance just now. You think  _ I _ don’t know double-talk when I hear it?”

Conlaeth gave a weak, slightly defeated laugh. “Good point.”

“I suspected, ever since I heard you ‘stepped down,’ it sounded decidedly out of character. And if your parting had been as  _ amicable _ as they want everyone to think,  _ this-” _ Canach gestured vaguely between her and the ship, as he closed the remaining distance to the gangplank with Conlaeth trailing behind him, “wouldn’t be an issue. But if it’s any consolation, I think they made the wrong choice.”

The sound of their footsteps became a metallic echo as they stepped onto the deck of the  _ Pride. _ Conlaeth became very aware of the other bodies around them, and she lowered her voice to just barely above the hum of the engines to say, “I would appreciate if you kept this to yourself. If it’s that obvious to you I’m sure you’re not alone, but I don’t need it becoming common knowledge.”

“You can rely on my utmost discretion.” The sincerity in Canach’s voice caught Conlaeth by surprise, though in retrospect perhaps it should not have been so unexpected. Their backgrounds were not so different, and they had suffered the same unique trials side by side in the battle against Mordremoth. If Conlaeth could rely on anyone's understanding, it was his.

They lapsed into silence as the crew of the  _ Pride _ ran through their final checks and the airship at last pushed off from Rata Sum, climbing high into the atmosphere as it slowly turned north and deeper into the jungle. Canach excused himself to rendezvous with the Shining Blade agents accompanying him, and once she was alone Conlaeth gravitated toward the outer walkway of the main deck, as far out of the path of anyone else as she could comfortably get without taking any extreme measures like hiding in the cargo bay--not that she hadn't very briefly considered it. From her position she listened to the deep rumble of the engines and the whistle of the wind, the quick and purposeful footsteps as crew members came and went. Ground visibility was minimal that high in the air, but when she fixed her gaze on a far point past the cloud cover, with the wind tugging at her hair and clothes, she could almost imagine she was back on the open seas again.

That feeling began to fade as they traveled, however, displaced by a creeping sense of unease and a pressure that climbed up from the base of her skull. By the time Canach finally reappeared at her side, she had pressed her back against the outer hull of the airship to keep herself on her feet.

“Are you alright?” Canach asked cautiously.

“Oh,  _ boy _ am I sick of hearing that,” Conlaeth laughed.

“So that's a no, then.” Conlaeth shot him a warning look, though it was undermined slightly by the smile still tugging at the corner of her lips. Canach stared out at the cloud cover skimming by beneath the ship for a few pensive seconds before speaking again. “You know I’m curious… assuming something doesn’t go horrendously sideways out here, now that you’re not with the Pact anymore, what are you going to do?”

Conlaeth followed his gaze, drumming her fingers against the hull at her back as she studied a cluster of dark clouds in the distance. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Ideally? Disappear for a while, maybe take a trip out to Southsun. Drink a great deal of alcohol.”

“And realistically?”

“Something goes horrendously sideways.”

Canach gave a dry chuckle, but he shrugged wordlessly, granting her that point. The darkened sky was slowly resolving into a rather ominous storm, and Conlaeth wondered whether they would have time to correct their course to avoid it.

“Rytlock wants to start a new Destiny’s Edge,” she said at length, “keep fighting the dragons, and he wants  _ me _ to lead it.”

Canach faced her, raising a curious eyebrow. “And you didn’t immediately agree to that?”

“I’m  _ sorry,” _ Conlaeth countered, “you really think you know my motivations that well?” Canach’s pointed silence was answer enough, and Conlaeth grimaced, her gaze drifting downward. Her headache was beginning to worsen, and she wondered if she wouldn’t be better off in the  _ Pride’s _ sheltered interior after all. “I’m… led to believe that Rytlock’s testimony did me no favors after the Marshal’s death.”

“So you only work with people who agree with and implicitly support you now?”

“I-” Conlaeth blinked, furrowing her brow. “What?”

“Oh, honestly,” Canach laughed, “in all the years you’ve been issuing orders to people, do you really think every single one would have backed up every decision you made if they were asked?”

Conlaeth squinted at him, unsure whether she really understood what he was trying to tell her. “He got me f-” a bright bolt of lightning arced across the sky ahead of them, the same instant a white-hot stab of pain shot through her head and twisted her final word into a groan of pain. It was all she could do not to double over there on the walkway, and as she pressed a hand to her temple she pushed herself away from the hull, sputtered out a weak “something's wrong,” and staggered back inside the ship, where at least she would not risk plummeting hundreds of miles to the ground if she lost her footing.

Somewhere near her, one of the crew members called out uncertainly, “we’re not flying into that scramble, are we?” Another crack of thunder and another wave of pain distorted the response that followed, as dark spots crowded in at the edges of Conlaeth’s vision. She thought she heard someone say her name, and felt the light touch of a hand on her shoulder--then all at once the ship was bathed in light and a deafening roar filled the air, drowning out the chorus of panicked cries that rose from the crew. An instant later the ship was rocked by a massive wave of energy, and as it pitched dangerously Conlaeth was thrown to the floor. Before she could even comprehend what had happened, her vision went black.

 

-//-

 

**1322 -** **_Farshore Ward, Lion’s Arch_ **

Somheirle ran his hands over his hair, sighing as he shook his head in frustration. “There’s… there’s just, nothing.”

“Yeah, that’s what you said in your letter, and I don’t accept that,” Conlaeth scoffed, balling up the letter in question and tossing it into the midst of the notes on his desk.

“I’m sorry Captain, I dug everywhere and anywhere I could think of, I burned a lot of favors trying to dig up a  _ single  _ lead, there isn’t anything that matches what you have.” He picked up the crumpled paper and turned it over in his hands. “Whatever it is, whoever made it, it wasn’t… well it never made history. There’s no record of it. Honestly I wouldn’t even know for sure it was  _ old _ except for where you found it.”

Conlaeth sighed, rubbing her eyes. “That makes no sense. It has to  _ be _ something, I can’t-…” she faltered, second guessing her words.  _ Can’t stop thinking about it? _ That didn’t seem entirely unusual, and perhaps it said more about her than it did about the amulet.  _ Can’t get rid of it? _ She certainly could have, if she had really wanted to, but that was the thing. She didn’t want do, and she didn’t know why.

 

-//-

 

**1329 -** **_the Pride of the Pact_ **

She awoke disoriented and sick, and the instant she moved her vision began to swim and she choked on the taste of bile at the back of her tongue. She screwed her eyes shut and dropped her head into her hands, waiting impatiently for the feeling to pass, but it never did more than ease slightly. She could hear frantic action all around her--alarms blaring, the quick tempo of rushed footsteps, and harried calls of “shore it up!” and “keep her steady!” and “focus, everyone!”--though it all sounded strange and tinny in her ears.

Finally, reluctantly, she dared to open her eyes again, blinking several times as she tried to take stock of the situation. Someone had moved her to a relatively secure corner of the bridge, where she now sat propped against the hull, her waking apparently unnoticed in the midst of repairs. Physically, she felt bruised yet overall unharmed, but white sparks danced in front of her eyes every time she shifted her gaze, and try as she might she couldn’t pull her thoughts entirely out of the mire that clouded them.

_ “Hello? Commander? Poobah? Can you hear me?” _

She blinked, scanning her immediate surroundings before realizing whose voice she was hearing. “Taimi?”

_ “Oh good, you’re still alive!” _ That only deepened her confusion, and she glanced left and right as the disembodied voice continued,  _ “the leyline map just went  _ **_crazy,_ ** _ and it’s right up where you were going! Are you there?” _

“I- yeah, I think so, but I don’t-”

_ “Listen, magic levels that high would already be dangerous, but if it’s affecting you differently for some reason, it could be  _ **_super_ ** _ hazardous. Like, X’s for eyes hazardous!” _

It was only then that Conlaeth managed to pluck the phrase  _ two-way communicators _ from her jumbled memories and realized she was speaking to Taimi remotely. She reached one shaky hand up to idly touch the device, confirming it was still where she had affixed it to her collar in Lion’s Arch, after she had dug it out of the pocket Taimi apparently slipped it into. “What do you suggest?” she asked, as she tried to mentally prepare herself for what she suspected would be the arduous task of getting to her feet.

_ “Um… come back?” _

Conlaeth laughed despite herself. Someone darted past her as a shout for assistance went up toward the helm. “Out of the question for now, I think.” Then with a slow, steady breath, she leaned forward to get her feet under her, then braced herself against the hull as she laboriously pushed herself upright, ignoring the dull radiating pain of her still-healing wounds. By then someone finally noticed she was awake, and a charr shuffled over to offer her a more substantial support. As she gripped one gloved forearm and finally found her balance, she could make out the familiar browns and greys of Vigil gear, and largely on instinct she prompted, “give me a status report, soldier.”

“We’re holding altitude but still assessing the scope of the damages, as well as what caused them,” he replied, clipped and formal even though Conlaeth’s rank no longer demanded it. “Initial evidence is that there was a massive explosion down in the fen and the  _ Pride _ was caught by the shock wave before we could adjust course.”

Conlaeth tentatively let go of his arm, rubbing her eyes as she straightened herself fully. “Then how are we not rubble on the ground?”

He gave a low, uneasy growl. “The explosion… reversed direction.”

“It. It what?” She squinted up at the charr, as if she would understand him better if she could see him more clearly.

He shrugged. “No one has an explanation. It all just… went back, like it was sucked back in or…”

Conlaeth shook her head, immediately regretting it when the motion nearly cost her her footing again. “Where's the general?” she demanded weakly, and when the charr swung his head toward the bow of the ship she moved that way. He kept pace alongside her and watched her closely, as if waiting to see whether she would collapse again, but she made it to Soulkeeper without incident, and by way of a greeting she simply said, “General what in the bloody Mists just happened?”

Soulkeeper turned quickly at the sound of her voice. “Ah, still among the living,” she remarked. “Our forward propulsion shorted out and we’ve taken significant exterior damage.”

“But what.  _ Happened,” _ Conlaeth repeated, quickly losing patience.

“As far as we can tell…” Soulkeeper hesitated, tail lashing in agitation. “The bloodstone just exploded.”

Conlaeth stared at her in disbelief for a long second, before shifting her gaze past the charr and out beyond the high front-facing windows of the ship. The sky was clouded with smoke and debris, and bathed in red light as if the world itself had caught fire. In the distance huge, jagged rock fragments hung, impossibly suspended in the air, and all throughout there were the swirling, disconcertingly vibrant veins of loose magic that always seemed to coalesce around cataclysms. For all intents and purposes, without anything else to compare it to, it certainly looked like a bloodstone had exploded. The sight alone was enough to spark another dizzy spell, and as Conlaeth reached out blindly she found the steady bulk of the charr who had helped her up the first time. She locked her gaze back on the floor as she sifted through the sudden influx of questions her mind was demanding answers for, until she landed on one that seemed like it might actually be answerable. “Where are Canach and his detachment?”

“Already on the ground,” Soulkeeper replied. “Canvassing the area for the minister.”

Conlaeth let go of the other charr again and took a step away from him, mostly to prove to herself that she could maintain her own footing. “I should be down there.”

Soulkeeper regarded her with obvious uncertainty. “Do you think that’s wise?”

“I  _ think _ it’s my call to make now,” Conlaeth shot back. “And it can’t be any worse than up here.”

The general nodded, disinterested in arguing with her. “We have one chopper in operation and we’ve made contact with a Pact squad already set up near the crater. They may be able to point you toward the rest of your team.”

 

-//-

 

**1326 -** **_Fort Trinity, Terzetto Bay_ **

“Our data still requires more serious scrutiny, but we have some initial findings that should inform our next course of action.”

“Uh-huh.” Conlaeth settled her elbows on the table as she rested her chin atop her hands, striving not to look as impatient as she felt. Priory scholars were an agonizing bunch to deal with, every delivery of new information felt like a lecture that took twice as long as it needed to. All she really wanted was to be pointed at their next target, assured that it would cripple the dragon, and set loose.

Trahearne nodded to Vivian and Gorr at the opposite side of the table, passing the conversation along to them. “Thanks to our most recent experiments,” Vivian began, “we have conclusive proof that Zhaitan sees through the Eyes we’ve encountered, and that removing them weakens the dragon itself.”

“Extending that logic,” Gorr continued, “I believe it’s safe to presume the dragon also  _ eats _ via the creatures we’re now calling the Mouths.”

“The big nasty with all the teeth where they shouldn’t be,” Conlaeth added. “Makes sense.”

Gorr nodded eagerly, apparently not picking up on her lack of enthusiasm. “It actually answers several questions posed by a theory I’ve been formulating--namely how and what the dragons hunt and eat. If we kill the Mouth, it may deprive Zhaitan of sustenance long enough to mobilize an even greater strike.”

“To that end-” Trahearne began, but Conlaeth cut him off.

“Now hold on,” she said, sitting back in her chair. “Just what  _ does _ it eat?”

“Oh!” Gorr perked up again, and Conlaeth immediately regretted her question. “You see, I originally pioneered the theory that dragons  _ consume magic, _ but until now I haven’t had a solid way to demonstrate that on a practical level. We know that Zhaitan has a direct line to its minions regarding information exchange, but I now believe it can also derive power from the energy gained by those very same minions.”

“Fascinating,” Conlaeth groaned. “ _ What. _ Does it  _ eat.” _

“Assuming my theory holds, magical artifacts.”

Conlaeth froze. “Our scouts have tracked one of the Mouths to its lair…” Trahearne was saying, but she barely processed the rest of his explanation. Her mind had been dragged back several years--to a ship expected to be laden with Orrian treasure, to a violent and merciless risen attack that she had never been able to rationalize… to a single artifact salvaged from the wreckage.

“Commander?”

Conlaeth blinked, realizing that all eyes were on her. “What?”

Trahearne cleared his throat uncertainly. “As I said… we have two possible courses of action. A direct assault on the Mouth’s lair is risky, but interrupting its supply remotely is less certain to-”

“We kill it.”

“I- Commander, I really think you should fully consider the options before you decide to-”

Conlaeth held up a hand to stop his protest. “Marshal,” she said slowly, with a slightly condescending smile. “This is what I’m here for, have I failed you yet? Get me a squad and a full briefing on the target, and I’ll clean it out.”

 

-//-

 

**1329 -** **_outside the Tomb of the Confessors_ **

“I assume you got all that.”

_ “Yeah, but… I have no idea what to make of any of i-...” _ A burst of static chewed up the tail end of Taimi’s words as they descended below the treeline.

Conlaeth snorted, her eyes drifting around the interior of the chopper--it was hard to know what to focus on when the other side of her conversation was miles away and out of sight. “Then I think you’re among friends, kiddo.”

 

Reaching the ground did bring some relief from whatever she was suffering, though the change was marginal at best. As she stepped off the chopper and crossed the landing site, she still felt like she was moving through a thick haze, but at least she was no longer teetering on the edge of consciousness. The soldier standing guard on the outskirts of the camp snapped to attention as she came into view, then halted uncertainly half-way through a crisp salute in the midst of saying, “Command- uh-”

“Nope,” she replied curtly. “Who’s in charge here?”

“That- that would be Bennett.” The guard hiked a thumb toward a human man standing near one of the tents, speaking in hushed tones to a sylvari in Priory garb. Inside the tent was the prone form of what looked to be another soldier, laying troublingly still.

Bennett and the sylvari both turned as Conlaeth approached, their conversation dropping off into silence. The sylvari excused himself, ducking into the tent to kneel beside the unmoving soldier. “Bennett,” Conlaeth said the name aloud, and it rang a vague note of familiarity as she looked him over--she didn’t know him, but she definitely knew the name. Then one of Somheirle’s notes materialized in her mind. “Oh! They pulled you out of Salvation Pass, didn’t they?”

“Y- yes,” he replied. “I wasn’t aware that information was available to the uh… to the public.”

“It isn’t,” Conlaeth said with a conspiratorial smile. “I’m looking for a Shining Blade team with a sylvari at the head, have they come through here?”

Bennett seemed hesitant to answer for a moment, perhaps unsure what all he was actually at liberty to say to her. “Not the whole team,” he said at length. “But a couple of them passed through. One went further into the fen and one went to investigate the crater.”

“They’re scattered,” Conlaeth clarified, and when Bennett nodded his confirmation she sighed. “Great.” Walking into ground zero of the explosion that had debilitated her was not especially enticing, and she looked over her shoulder, toward a thinning in the underbrush that looked like it could pass for a path farther into the jungle and away from the blast zone. “What else can you tell me about the area?”

He hesitated again, prompting Conlaeth to turn back to face him. “With respect, ma’am,” he started uneasily, “this is a Pact operation, and-”

“And I’m here at a request from agents of the queen,” Conlaeth replied readily. “I think you can afford to be candid.”

“… Fair enough,” Bennett sighed, as he ran a hand through his greying hair and glanced past her down the path she had been examining a moment before. “The entire area is crawling with White Mantle, so be on your guard. Anyone who was caught in the blast before it reversed has been… changed. Driven mad by the magical energy. Mantle and Pact alike, so even if you see anyone out there who looks like an ally, just… tread lightly.”

Conlaeth nodded idly, considering the information carefully. “Is that what happened to this one?” she asked, tilting her head toward the figure inside the tent.

“No, she was outside the blast zone with us, whatever happened to her is… different.”

“She is still herself,” the sylvari added, reappearing from inside the tent. “But she is suffering  _ so _ much. We sent a team into the crater to investigate and she was the only one to return. She raves about purple stone monsters, claims whatever it did is…  _ inside _ her now.”

“The mursaat had something similar in their service at the peak of their power,” Bennett said. “It’s not unlikely the White Mantle somehow found a way to reactivate some of them.” Conlaeth was silent, and wrinkled her nose as she raised a hand to wearily massage her temple. She turned back to Bennett when he went on, “oh, there was one more thing. Caithe came through here like a centaur on fire, wouldn’t stop for anything. I think  _ she _ was headed for the crater too.”

“Oh. Fantastic,” Conlaeth muttered, without the energy to question why Caithe was in the area at all. 

 

-//-

 

**1326 -** **_Kitah Manse, Waste Hollows_ **

Torches flickered in the sconces along the manor’s entryway, casting the chipped path and crumbling pillars in an otherworldly purple glow. That alone, the incongruous nature of those lit torches in the midst of the ruins, was enough to put Conlaeth on edge even without the prickly aura emanating from the manse itself.

“We’re ready to move on your orders, Commander,” Hekja said, saluting as Conlaeth approached. “There’s a massive number of artifacts en route to this location, and the site itself is already giving us readings off the charts.”

“I don’t need any tech to know this place is crawling with magic,” Conlaeth replied with a dry chuckle. “But I want more before we move in, take your scouting party as far as you can without engaging and report back.”

Hekja nodded. “Understood, we’ll be in and out before they know we’re there.”

 

It didn’t take long for the rest of the squad to get restless, and when an hour passed with no word from the scouts Conlaeth was prepared to concede that it was time to start moving, intel or no. Zrii was at her side while the remaining five members of the team took up their positions behind her, and they entered Kitah Manse prepared for the worst.

As she crossed the threshold Conlaeth’s faltered, feeling like she had just broken a thin film and the energy held inside had suddenly washed over her, and her skin immediately began to crawl. More alarmingly, the amulet began to press against her chest like a weight, and as she halted to catch her breath she almost didn’t process the scene they had just stepped into. The entrance hall was bathed in the same purple light as the walkway beyond, and a human in elegant robes stood on a high dais above them, addressing a small gathering of equally well-dressed guests, while several servants stood unmoving along the wall to their right. “Come in, come in,” the man on the platform said, beaming as he beckoned to Conlaeth and her squad. “I hope you’ll forgive the meager accommodations, but I assure you my servants will tend to your every need.”

“Burn me,” Galina whispered, “what in blazes is all this?”

“I don’t like it,” Snarl growled beside her. “Let’s find a way out before things get any weirder.”

His words caught Conlaeth by surprise, and when she turned she realized with a stab of dread that the door had closed behind them.

“A toast to you, honored guest,” the host continued as she turned back. “Eat, drink, join me in my salon for some lively conversation.” With that he turned, strolling toward another door at the back of the room, and the assembly of guests followed him silently.

Within seconds Conlaeth had a theory. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered, drawing her sword and earning a startled look from Snarl. She turned to one of the servants, a fresh faced young man holding an empty tray. “What is this?” she demanded.

“We hope you enjoy your stay at Kitah Manse,” the servant replied, voice flat and strangely garbled, like he was speaking through water. “Lord Kitah has instructed us to see to your every need.”

“And who is this Lord Kitah,  _ exactly?” _ Conlaeth pressed.

“His lordship is a devoted servant of Lyssa. It-”

“That’s what I thought.” Without another word she ran her sword through the servant’s gut, to the alarm of several of her soldiers. The servant made a wet choking sound, then in a burst of purple light the glamor faded, and the decaying body of a risen slouched over her blade. She pulled her sword free as a pained cry rang out behind her before cutting off abruptly, and she wheeled around to face the other servants as their disguises failed as well and they set upon her team.

 

-//-

 

**1329 -** **_Ground Zero_ **

Despite Bennett’s warning, Conlaeth did not meet the level of White Mantle opposition she had expected. She spotted its agents twice as she traversed the vast rubble field that edged the crater, but simply by merit of the jagged and uneven terrain she was able to avoid drawing their attention. More importantly, she managed to avoid everything else the explosion had spawned. Earth elementals, now speared and peppered with bloodstone shrapnel, shambled across the terrain, and once she saw something swoop down from the air that seemed to be comprised entirely of bloodstone shards bound and animated by some spark of magic. The mere presence of these creatures set her whole body on edge, and she did not care to imagine how she would fair in a fight with one.

Finally, she stood at the edge of the crater itself, looking down into the tortured maw blown open by the explosion. Shards of red crystal pierced through the rock, reaching into the sky like angry claws, and the open air was thick and rippling with displaced magic. That was as far as she could make herself go. It was a long way down, and the rough wooden ramps Bennett’s squad had set up spiraling down its outer edge promised a slow and lengthy journey into the heart of the magical storm. Conlaeth was already fighting a fresh crippling pain in her skull, and she knew every step down would be a further trial, but she was even less eager to return to Soulkeeper’s ship and be forced to admit that she had overestimated her own endurance. For a long time she simply stood staring down into the pit, warring with herself, until she heard the telltale sound of loose stones shifting behind her.

She didn’t turn fast enough to brace for the sudden shock wave that caught her square across the back, throwing her forward. She tumbled over the side of the crater and slid down as she grabbed desperately at the gravel beneath her, until she finally managed to sink her fingers into the soil beneath. She shut her eyes against the shower of pebbles that followed her down, before peering up at her assailant. A human woman stood at the crest of the pit, a heavy greatsword gripped tight in both her hands, and though the bulk of her form was cast in dark shadows against the blood-tinged sky, her eyes blazed with a violent red light. Fear of the gaping pit below her urged Conlaeth back up even if it meant being right at the woman’s feet, and she scrambled against the unstable terrain as she climbed back toward the edge. “Do you think you can stop us?” the human hissed, and grinning she raised the sword as it lit up in her hands. Conlaeth pulled herself back up onto relatively solid ground only to be bowled over onto her side, and she felt the air rush from her lungs before the spell fractured into prismatic shards of light around her. Conlaeth struggled, gasping, to her feet and drew her sword. Her opponent barely missed a beat as she adjusted the grip on her own weapon and prepared to strike again, but Conlaeth seized the opportunity, darting forward as a fire sprang to life in her empty hand. Caught off guard, the woman instinctively raised her arms to fend off the attack, but as Conlaeth’s fist made contact with the broad side of the greatsword’s blade something changed--in an instant the fire split apart, the air split apart with it, and with a sharp  _ crack _ reality shifted violently, knocking both Conlaeth and the woman back in a wave of force.

Conlaeth stared, wide-eyed, between the human and her own hand, still humming with energy, and for one bright, impossible moment her mind was crystal clear, and though she couldn’t say how or why, she understood one crucial thing: this woman had something she needed. Then as quickly as it had come the clarity began to slip away as the atmospheric magic began to press in on her again. She felt the gravel shift under her and staggered back another step a second before a spike of energy stabbed up out of the ground, then she looked up to see that her opponent had apparently recovered her wits first. Still grasping at the last trailing threads of her sudden focus, Conlaeth raised her sword and prepared to close the distance again, but before she had a chance to do anything the human choked, staggered, and collapsed forward, blood pooling around her throat.

Conlaeth just stared, uncomprehending and still tensed like she thought the fight wasn’t over. Then a shadow cast by the jagged rocks overhead shifted slightly, and Caithe stepped into view. She studied the body as she picked her way carefully around it, then turned her eyes up to Conlaeth. “Well this is a rather unexpected meeting, Commander, what are you doing out here?”

Finally Conlaeth began to relax, sheathing her sword as she met the other sylvari’s eye. “That… I think that’s a better question for  _ you,” _ she said slowly. Then without even really thinking about it she stepped forward, stooping to take hold of the body’s arm and haul it onto its back. She dropped down to one knee beside it, studying the white and crimson robes closely, looking for anything that struck a familiar chord under the deep red of blood soaking into the fabric. “Shouldn’t you be in Tarir?” she continued, her tone oddly conversational given the circumstances.

“The Exalted seem well prepared to guard the egg,” Caithe replied. “What are you doing?”

“Were you down in the crater? You find anything interesting?” Conlaeth glanced at the abandoned greatsword, before dismissing it as a possibility. She leaned over the body, taking hold of the arm she hadn’t used to flip it.

“No, not yet...” Caithe was sounding increasingly uneasy. “But I am wondering-” Conlaeth’s breath caught in her throat as soon as she touched the glove on the body’s left hand, and the world seemed to snap into hyperfocus around her. Trying not to look too frantic, she hurriedly undid the clasp holding it snug at the human’s wrist and slid it off, turning it over in her hand. The base was thin, light leather, but the back was reinforced with a carefully shaped metal plate, each knuckle accented with a cut red gem, and each finger with riveted metal joints that ended in a sharp claw. Conlaeth rose to her feet, still examining the gauntlet, when Caithe’s voice broke into her thoughts again. “What is that?”

“Great question, don’t know yet.  _ Long  _ story,” Conlaeth replied, surprising herself with the upbeat energy in her voice. She grinned in the face of Caithe’s dubious look. “Let’s talk about  _ you. _ You’re an awfully long way from anywhere.” She gripped the soft material side of the gauntlet between her teeth as she turned her left hand over, loosening the buckles on her bracer and tugging off her own glove.

“I was returning to Tarir from the Grove,” Caithe replied, still sounding guarded. “I saw the explosion on the horizon, and I couldn’t just ignore that without investigating.”

Conlaeth raised her eyebrows, scanning their immediate surroundings before settling her gaze back on Caithe. She took the clawed glove back into her hand, saying, “and you got all the way out here  _ alone?” _

“You’re lucky I did,” Caithe remarked, tilting her head pointedly toward the body between them.

“I… had it handled.” Conlaeth cleared her throat, then slipped the looted glove over her bare hand. The fit was slightly loose, but when she closed the clasp and then fitted her bracer back over it, it settled into place well enough. She studied it as she flexed her fingers idly, testing the movement, and wondered at the peculiar sensation it evoked, like she was dragging her fingernails over fine mesh. When she finally realized she had let the silence hang between her and Caithe uncomfortably long, she said,  “so what’s down below us, then? What has your  _ investigation _ turned up?”

_ “Nothing _ yet, I just said I haven’t…” Caithe faded off, narrowing her eyes as she gave Conlaeth a long look. “Are you… alright?”

Conlaeth laughed, delighting in how lively it sounded on her own lips. “You know for once, Caithe, I  _ am.” _

“Hello? Conlaeth?” A voice drifted up to them from further out in the field, and when Conlaeth squinted against the red light she thought she recognized the blue and silver of the Shining Blade. She waved the new arrival over, and the soldier hiked up the gravelly incline to join them. “Canach sent some of us out to find you when you weren’t on the ship,” she explained. “We’ve pinpointed the minister and we’re ready to move on his location.”

“And your timing couldn’t possibly be better,” Conlaeth said, before turning an inquisitive look to Caithe.

“I’m going to stay,” the other sylvari replied. “See what I can dig up here.”

“If you find anything, pass it along. I should be in Lion’s Arch once this is squared away.” Conlaeth turned her attention back to the Shining Blade soldier. “Now where do we find this minister of yours?”

“As far as we can tell, he’s somewhere within the old White Mantle colosseum.”

“Which is where?”

The soldier hesitated a moment, before lifting her gaze up above them, to the largest of the displaced rock formations high overhead.

 

-//-

 

**1326 -** **_Kitah Manse, Waste Hollows_ **

By the time they pushed into the heart of the manor, Conlaeth could feel the magical energy clawing at her like a living thing, and her patience had very quickly reached its end long before the fighting did. The amulet was a firebrand against her chest and a dead weight around her neck, but still she could not bring herself to abandon it.

She glared down at the ruined body of Hekja, lying in an inelegant heap beside that of the risen lord Kitah, her killer. “Have. I mentioned,” she started breathlessly.

“How much you hate mesmers?” Zrii offered. “Today? Yes.”

Conlaeth shot her a sour look, before taking stock of who all was still standing. Between the lost scouting party and the relentless risen assault they had just endured, her ten-person squad was down to a meager three.

Before she could issue another order, a booming voice resonated through the walls of the manse.  _ “I am waiting below… Face me, if you dare.” _

“That’s our cue,” Conlaeth muttered, scanning the crumbling salon until she spotted another door. Zrii, Galina, and Snarl followed her through. On the other side was nothing but a deep pit dug straight through the floor and into the earth, and without a word Conlaeth led what was left of her team down into the depths.

The damp chamber below was lit by the same ghostly torches, and the walls were piled high with moldering crates and barrels, chipped pots and vases, and an uncountable assortment of battered armor, weapons, and bits of jewelry. The Mouth stood expectantly at the center of it all, a grisly imitation of the welcome they had received upon entering the manor. As they approached a risen servant bustled past, entirely disregarding the Pact soldiers as it lugged a heavy box down to the Mouth and placed it reverently at its feet.  _ “These insects would dare to invade this place,” _ the Mouth growled, voice still resounding through the space as it stooped to retrieve the box.  _ “They do nothing but throw bodies to the Dragon.” _

“I don’t need an army to end this,” Conlaeth spat, raising her sword.

_ “And look at this,” _ the Mouth continued, with a low, watery rumble that might have been laughter. It slid the box idly into the gaping maw of its stomach, and the chamber filled with the sound of splintering wood and glass as it bit down.  _ “The one that got away… your ship made a fine addition to Zhaitan’s fleet.” _

Conlaeth’s fraying temper flared, and she didn’t wait to hear more. She bolted into the chamber, hurling a fireball ahead of her. It broke against a shield of spectral weapons that shot up from the ground, and the Mouth responded with a roar that sent her staggering backward again. The others sprang into action as she tried to right herself, drawing the beast’s attention away even as it continued to speak.

_ “It is kind of you to finally bring my master the meal you deprived us of all those years ago.” _ Conlaeth pulled in a ragged breath as she fought to find her balance. Galina tore one of the spectral weapons out of the air with a shout, leaving a gap in the Mouth’s defense. Conlaeth wasted no time moving in, fire already curling up around her arm again. She swung her fist around to strike the broad side of the monster, only to stagger again as it caught her wrist in its hand. Conlaeth’s mind spiraled as panic mingled with the magical energy pressing in around her.  _ “Do you even know what power you carry?” _ the Mouth taunted. Conlaeth tried to pull another bout of fire into her hands, but the spell guttered out as she fought against the creature’s grasp. She cast around the chamber desperately for the rest of her party, but the Mouth’s spectral guard had redoubled around them.  _ “No matter,” _ the Mouth went on, lifting her up as its mouth gaped hungrily.  _ “Your magic will please the Dragon.” _

Then something shifted. Conlaeth roared, kicking out frantically as she tried one more desperate time to call forth an element to her aid. Instead, she felt the magical energy all around her crackle, felt her surroundings warp in a way she could not explain, and the air around her captured arm seemed to violently pull apart. The flesh of the Mouth’s arm ruptured in a spray of bone and viscous blood as Conlaeth fell to the ground at its feet before scrambling out of its reach. The Mouth staggered, bellowing in outrage, and in its distraction the others were able to dispatch it easily.

There was silence in the chamber then, as the spectral weapons clattered back into the wet sand, the Mouth sank down with a bubbling death rattle, and the surviving soldiers caught their breath. Conlaeth rose slowly and unsteadily to her feet, her hands buzzing with an unfamiliar energy.

“Hey… Commander?” she looked up as Galina spoke. “What was that?”

“I have no idea.”

 

-//-

 

**1329 -** **_Colosseum of the Faithful_ **

As Conlaeth stepped down from the chopper onto the warped stone platform, she could hear bits of debris crumble and detach from the edges, plummeting toward the ground below. She grimaced, then quickly wiped the expression away as she turned to toss the pilot a quick salute before the chopper lifted up and away again. Before her, the platform led to a set of high stone doors, and while much of the structure beyond was largely obscured, Conlaeth could see the suggestions of a path spiraling up a sheer rock face to the main body of the colosseum. Taken as a whole, it looked almost as if a massive hand had scooped the colosseum out of the earth to raise it up into the sky. Canach was already standing at the doors, and to Conlaeth’s surprise, Rytlock and Marjory were at his side. “Doing some sightseeing, Delaqua?” she called as she approached.

“Oh, sure,” Marjory purred. “An ancient temple of human sacrifice miles up in the air? How could I miss it?”

Conlaeth grinned. “Did you come all the way out here with Rytlock? Did he give you the  _ guild _ pitch?”

“We’re calling it Dragon’s Watch, I’m told.”

“Are we?” Conlaeth cocked an eyebrow in Rytlock’s direction. “Could be worse.” When she turned to address Canach next, he was eyeing her curiously.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, but his words had the same cautious edge that Caithe’s had, and he exchanged a momentary glance with Rytlock. “I must say you seem…  _ well.” _

“Yeah?” Conlaeth took a deep breath, still smiling as she bounced on the balls of her feet. “I feel  _ great. _ So what’s the plan? Where’s the rest of your people?”

“Some of them are still looking for you,” Canach admitted. “The rest are setting up a perimeter here. I intended to deal with the minister privately, but it  _ will _ help to have someone to corroborate events, should they go south.”

“It helps less than you’d think,” Conlaeth remarked casually, then before anyone had a chance to parse that she pressed on, “so this is a live capture?”

“Anise is  _ very _ worried about the minister’s wellbeing. He’s innocent until proven guilty, of course, and I’m under strict orders to bring him home unless  _ he _ does something to change that.”

“She must be hoping those plans change,” Marjory mused.

Canach offered her a thin smile. “I’m also under strict orders to be tight-lipped on that front,” he said. “But I will say this: Yes.”

“Then there’s no time to waste.” Conlaeth stepped forward, braced one hand on each of the stone doors, and shoved. They slid open with the slow grinding groan of ancient mechanisms, until the passage was just wide enough for each of them to slip through--Rytlock with only marginally more effort than the others.

Canach took point as they moved inward, holding out a hand to signal the others to stop as he examined the ground ahead of him. “Watch your step,” he said, “I’m sure this place was designed to keep the unwary at bay.” As if in demonstration, there was a dry  _ crack _ as a spear shot up out of the ground inches from Rytlock’s nose, answered by a string of muttered curses from the charr. They proceeded at a slow, quiet pace, and Conlaeth paused once to look past the ragged edge of the path they were following, out at the red and clouded sky around them. Now that she could process it properly, it was a rather spectacular sight, however troubling the implications were.

They passed under a number of collapsing arches before reaching another door, this one still standing and sealed shut, as a muffled voice emanated from the other side. “Work faster! These bloodstones won’t collect themselves!” it barked, and the team quietly drew their weapons in preparation.

“Let me take the lead,” Canach whispered. “I was given specific orders on how to execute this, and I don’t need the process interrupted by anyone inclined to start blindly smiting.” He shot a warning glance at Rytlock, and Conlaeth smirked until he tossed one her way as well. He stepped to the side of the path, and with a performative gesture said, “now, if anyone has a suggestion for opening this...”

“I might.” Conlaeth stepped up to the archway, then placed her empty hand against the rough stone where the two sides of the door met. Magical energy radiated from the other side like heat, and it was a simple task to wrap her mind around the threads of it draw it toward her. The air resonated with a deep note for a second, then splintered abruptly as cracks shot out across the stone at all angles and the doors swung violently inward before coming to rest at awkward angles on their hinges. Canach dashed up to her side, saying, “Minister Caudecus! You’ve obviousl- oh.” He stopped abruptly as they processed the scene before them.

Before them was an open room, the high walls crumbling with age and the ground strewn with rubble. Several White Mantle agents, already primed to fight after the warning shot to the entrance, guarded a second, closed door in the far wall, and in the center a tall woman knelt, head lowered almost reverently, before a smooth shard of bloodstone that pierced several feet into the air. She stood slowly at the sound of their entrance, and turned to face them with a dangerous smile, the elegant armor of a justiciar glinting in the ash-filled sunlight. “Do you really think we’ll let you take him?” she hissed, reaching behind her to wrap her hand around the handle of a heavy battle hammer leaned against the bloodstone shard.

“He’s not yours to keep, fanatic!” Canach volleyed back.

The justiciar laughed sharp and cruel, raising her hammer up over her head in one smooth swing. “Teach these fools their place!” she shouted, vaulting forward to bring the hammer down on the two sylvari. Conlaeth and Canach darted in opposite directions, and Conlaeth heard him shout “never mind, smite away!” as she ducked and an arrow whizzed over her head. She sprinted across the room and drove her shoulder into the chest of the first archer she reached, staggering him, then thrust her sword through the exposed flesh of his throat. He collapsed with a gurgling cry, and Conlaeth yanked her blade free in time to raise her arm against the swinging cut of someone else’s sword, the blow glancing heavily off her bracer. She whirled on her next opponent, everything flooding back to her in the heat of the moment, and with a defiant grin she threw her left hand out, took hold of one fractured edge of reality, and tore it apart. The soldier was pulled off balance by the sudden force, and when the rift snapped shut again it it threw her to the ground, where she remained in a broken heap. Conlaeth set her eyes on the second archer, in the opposite corner of the room with an arrow already nocked and aimed her way. Conlaeth only took one step forward, but the arrow shot harmlessly through the spot where she had been as she reappeared before the archer, ripped the bow from her hands, and sent her sprawling backward with a sharp pommel strike to the side of her head. Conlaeth braced her boot against the archer’s chest as she shifted the grip on her sword to drive it down for a finishing blow, but she stalled and looked up when the justiciar’s voice rang out again.

“You think you can  _ win? _ ” She cast Canach and Marjory aside with a roar, before Rytlock managed to fend off two of the remaining warriors before taking hold of one and hurling him bodily into the justiciar. She staggered and fell backward against the bloodstone shard, which flared without warning, energy bursting forth from it to consume the justiciar’s form. Within seconds her screams warped into a manic laugh and she lurched forward again, trailing streams of energy that raged like fire around her. “The bloodstone’s magic... empowers me,” she wheezed, “and what do all of you have?  _ Nothing!” _

The air around her shifted and rippled, but before Conlaeth could understand what she had just witnessed she felt a hand close around her ankle, and a second later her knee buckled and she was thrown to the ground by the archer. Her shoulder struck against a sharp chunk of debris, sending a burst of pain down her arm that shook her sword out of her grasp. Before the archer could regain her footing Conlaeth drove a heel into her ribs and knocked her back again, before scrambling to her own feet. She was upright no more than a moment before she smelled ozone and she was tossed down again. She rolled over to see the justiciar advancing doggedly on Canach, who was backing away with his shield raised.

All at once Conlaeth forgot the archer, and she clambered upright again as she stumbled toward the bloodstone shard. She had no plan, but something was pulling her toward it even though it flashed and spat out sparks as she approached. She reached out her left hand, feeling the same strange, snagging feeling as the clawed gauntlet passed through the air, and even in the heat of battle she realized what she was feeling: overwhelming, undeniable curiosity. The second she laid her hand on the shard it seemed to vibrate with a violent, angry energy. Every instinct in Conlaeth’s mind cried out for her to retreat, but she stood her ground, drowning in that same burning energy she had drawn to her from the opposite side of the door. She squinted against the blazing light of the bloodstone as it poured over her, until with a start she sank her fingers into the stone itself, wrapping her hand around something indeterminate at its core. She recoiled an instant later and shielded her face as the shard burst and energy rippled out to the edges of the room. The justiciar howled in outrage, knocked off balance by the blast, the swirling aura around her dissipating in a burst of light. Rytlock was the one to seize the opportunity, and he drove the flaming blade of his sword straight through her armor before she could react.

The battlefield fell silent for several uncertain seconds. Conlaeth turned sharply at the sound of movement behind her, to see the last remaining archer edging nervously toward the still-closed door. In one quick movement Conlaeth retrieved her sword from the ground and closed the distance to the archer, leveling the blade in front of the human’s throat and stopping her in her tracks. “Why are you collecting bloodstones?” she demanded.

“I- I don’t know,” the archer stammered as she backed away from the blade. Conlaeth followed her movement, driving her backward until she hit the wall.

“Hopefully to weigh down Caudecus’s pockets so he can jump in a lake,” Rytlock muttered.

Conlaeth let the tip of her blade rest against the archer’s throat. In reality she was acutely aware it was not the best position to be in if she wanted to deliver a quick killing blow, but the woman looked scared, so she played along. “Try again.”

“Oh, six forgive me,” she breathed, slouching weakly against the wall. “We- we found some of the old jade constructs, they’re trying to figure out how to power one of them.”

The archer delivered the line like Conlaeth should know what she was talking about, but the description meant nothing to her. “The mursaat footsoldiers?” Marjory gasped behind her. “You have one  _ here?” _ The archer just nodded, her wide and fearful eyes still fixed on Conlaeth.

After one more tense moment Conlaeth stepped back, lowering her blade and jerking her chin toward the door they had entered through. “Go,” she said, and when the archer scurried away and was out of sight she sheathed her sword and muttered, “we’ll let the Blades decide what to do with her. You know what she’s talking about?” She turned to Marjory. “What are we expecting up there?”

“Hold on,” Marjory protested, “before I answer that, I think there’s a more pressing question.”

“Yeah, what the hell did you just do to the bloodstone?” Rytlock supplied.

Conlaeth blinked, looking from them to the shattered remains of the shard strewn about the center of the room. “I don’t…” she began, flexing her hand at her side, but she quickly second guessed the admission and started again, straightening confidently. “Well, you’ve all seen me fight before. Spellbreaking’s not that hard.”

“That’s… some countermeasure,” Marjory said. Rytlock just grunted doubtfully, but he said nothing more. After a moment Marjory stepped cautiously closer to the bloodstone remains, considering them closely. “It is interesting,” she mused. “Bloodstone is meant to absorb magic, but apparently it can also be made to  _ release  _ that energy back into the atmosphere. I think I know a certain big-eared asura who would have loved to study this.”

_ “I heard that!” _ came Taimi’s voice from Conlaeth’s communicator, earning a startled look from Marjory.

“Oh- right,” Conlaeth chuckled, tapping the the device. “Taimi’s calling in.”

“Good to know,” Marjory murmured.

“As fascinating as this is, we need to keep moving before we lose the element of surprise completely,” Canach cut in, breaking what Conlaeth realized had been a rather uncharacteristic silence. “Marjory, should we expect from these so-called jade constructs?”

“Right. If they can’t get it working?” Marjory shrugged. “A pile of rocks. If they  _ can… _ could be trouble.” Glancing at Conlaeth, she added, “that new trick of yours might come in handy though.”

Conlaeth crossed the space to the second door, and after listening briefly to be sure there was nothing immediately on the other side, she pushed it open the old fashioned way. It opened onto a stone platform, better preserved than the ones below, with stairs winding up the side of the cliff--the final leg of the climb to the apex. They had not made it far before another raised voice began to reach them, muted and indistinct at first but quickly resolving into words. “...peating myself-- _ you _ follow  _ my _ orders! I don’t know where these delusions are coming from. There is one White Mantle, you hear me? ONE.”

“That’s him alright,” Canach muttered.

Rytlock huffed impatiently. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m ready to lay this man to rest.”

“I think,” Canach replied, his tone deliberate, “you mean  _ return him to safety.” _

“Minister, I understand, but-” another voice above them began, only to be cut off by the first.

“But! But! Be quiet, and someone tell me what this thing can do! How powerful is it?  _ Anyone?” _

By then they had reached the end of their climb, and were faced with yet another sealed door. “Everyone ready to crash this party?” Canach asked, as the four once again readied their weapons. “Conlaeth, if you would do the honors.” Emboldened by the last fight enough to do away with the preparation time she had taken previously, Conlaeth raised her hand and pulled another rift into being with a flick of her wrist, wrenching the doors open once again. Canach moved in first, raising his voice as he went. “Minister Caudecus! You’ve obviously been taken prisoner by these White Mantle zealots, I’m here to rescue you and return you to the Royal Palace.” When there was no immediately violent response, Conlaeth, Rytlock, and Marjory followed him in. They entered into a wide circular arena, remarkably preserved for its age, the outer edge of the open area ringed with yet more bloodstone crystals. Directly across from them, in the cover of an arch in the circular wall of the colosseum, four more White Mantle agents stood guard around what at first glance looked like, as Marjory had described it, a pile of rocks. The polished stones shone in oily shades of green and purple, and they vibrated where they were heaped as if barely containing whatever energy filled them.

“Let’s drop this charade, shall we, you ignorant leaf!” Caudecus’s voice rang out from above them, and Conlaeth looked up to find him on a high platform above them, presiding over the scene with a single human woman at his back. “I’ll not be returning to Divinity’s Reach until  _ I _ wear the crown!”

Conlaeth fell into position beside Canach as he replied, “to be clear, you admit freely that you’re associated with the White Mantle?”

“Clearly, I am their supreme leader!” Caudecus cackled. “And  _ they _ will carry me all the way to the throne!”

“Interesting.” Canach lowered his voice, leaning slightly toward Conlaeth. “Did you witness all that?”

“I certainly did,” Conlaeth confirmed.

Canach nodded sharply, then turned his full attention back to Caudecus. “Then by the providence of Countess Anise, I hereby pass sentence on you, Caudecus Beetlestone-”

“This is ridiculous,” Caudecus spat, “You didn’t really expect to walk into an even match, did you?” As he spoke, a dozen more archers stepped out onto the upper ramparts to either side of him, glowering down into the arena. Caudecus grinned as Conlaeth looked them all over, only then beginning to feel apprehensive. “Well, go on,” the minister continued, waving frantically at the guards below him. “Get them! Turn this thing on! Do  _ something!” _

For a second, as the guards looked doubtfully at the heap of stones, nothing happened. Then it rattled to life, slowly rising up as it resolved into a more distinct form, and without warning it surged forward with a roar, tossing the guards aside as it clawed its way into the arena on arms of jagged stone. Conlaeth and her team scattered as it brought its fist down in their midst, sending fissures through the ancient tiled ground. It reared up again, turning ponderously toward each of them in turn.

“Tell me, what do you think of our latest find?” Caudecus called down, apparently unconcerned with the loss of his four agents. A volley of arrows rained down into the arena after his words, but as several of them glanced off the hard surface of the construct it started, wheeling around and swatting away several of the archers in one shot. Cries of shock went up from those remaining as they scattered, punctuated by Caudecus shouting, “what are you doing? It’s supposed to be on  _ our _ side, just don’t shoot at it you dolts!”

The construct zeroed in on Canach first and lunged. He fell back and raised his shield quickly, but though the creature’s attack only grazed him, the force of it still drove him to the ground with a pained groan.

“Canach!” Conlaeth cried out, taking a step toward him, but she succeeded only in drawing the construct’s attention to her instead. She retreated again but the beast moved faster than she expected, and as it brought its fists down around her, for an instant the world froze, cast in marbled green light. Then she screamed. She collapsed gracelessly and curled in on herself, wracked with a burning agony that seemed to snake through her entire being. Her vision clouded but she fought the pain and tried to drag herself to the outer edge of the arena, convinced that she would be crushed to death if she didn’t move.

The pain dissipated all at once, leaving her dazed as she pushed herself up off the ground. She had no idea how to judge how long she had been incapacitated, but when she turned back toward the sounds of fighting she saw Marjory and Rytlock valiantly trying to cut down the construct, chipping away at its base until it swung its heavy hands downward, knocking one away and then the other. Conlaeth struggled to her feet, gasping, but she crossed the arena back toward her opponent. “Hey!” she shouted, pulling its focus once again away from her prone party members. “You wanna try me again?”

The construct seemed to hesitate, and in the single beat of stillness she heard Canach yell,  _ “what _ are you doing?”

“Buying you ti- shit!” she dodged a swipe from the construct, then fell back to lead it away from the others. When it wound up again and she recognized the motion that had projected its first debilitating attack, she planted her feet and sucked in a sharp breath. This time as its fists came down she threw her hands forward--realizing only then that she had lost her sword again at some point--and latched on to all the resonant bloodstone energy around them. Light and heat exploded around her, and the construct let out a guttural, otherworldly screech. When the light cleared, it was ruins at her feet.

Conlaeth had only a second to feel triumphant before the edges of her vision blurred and she was struck with a wave of nausea, then she had only a second to be concerned before she felt her body halt in place, resisting any mental command from her. “You will  _ not _ stop me!” Caudecus shouted, “the Krytan throne was built on White Mantle blood, and we are its rightful heirs!”

He was answered by a bolt of lightning that arced, not from the sky, but up from below, followed by a deep rumbling as a column of energy formed at the edge of his platform, then burst outward to reveal another figure, to a chorus of gasps and shouts from what remained of the White Mantle. This new arrival was unlike anything Conlaeth had seen before, huge, radiant in golden armor as it hovered in the air over the colosseum, leering down at Caudecus with eyes that glowed cold and grim from within its helm.

“By the six,” she heard Marjory breathe behind her, and somewhere in the back of her mind she registered relief that at least one member of her party was still alive.

_ You are a heretic, Caudecus, _ the golden figure bellowed, voice resonating through the entire arena.  _ You shall lead no White Mantle, for  _ **_I_ ** _ am their god! _

“Im- impossible,” Caudecus stammered. “The White Mantle is mine! Whatever you are, you’re a  _ false _ god!”

_ Empty words on the forked tongue of a snake. _ The figure raised its eyes to survey the arena, the scattered remains of Caudecus’s defensive line where they cowered on the edges of the colosseum.  _ Look upon me, and know me. I am Lazarus the Dire, last of the mursaat, returned from the brink of existence by your work and sacrifice. The human seat of power does not concern me, for we are destined for more virtuous pursuits. _ It peered at Caudecus again as it spoke its next words,  _ true believers are welcome to seek shelter in my light. Those who doubt… are welcome to burn. _

On the tail end of his final statement there was a scream from the ramparts overhead, and in an instant fire was raining down from the sky. Whatever spell had pinned Conlaeth in place broke and she fell forward onto her knees, before clambering to her feet and dashing for the cover of the arch that had housed the jade construct. From somewhere indistinct Marjory called, “Canach! Go now!” at the same time she heard Caudecus above her snap, “don’t just stand there gaping! Get me out of here!” The archway opened up to reveal more stairs on the outer wall, and Conlaeth climbed them to the upper platform in time to see Canach dart from cover, sword at the ready, as the woman beside Caudecus made a quick gesture with her hand. Canach sliced down in what would have been a devastating blow, but his attack passed through empty air and a cloud of purple butterflies, and he gave a wordless shout of frustration.

Conlaeth cautiously stepped out onto the platform, surveying the scene. The fire had run its course and all the remaining White Mantle agents had been struck down, while Lazarus had disappeared in the commotion. Conlaeth and Canach exchanged a momentary look, before she shrugged wearily. “Of  _ course _ she was a mesmer.”

Canach swore under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck as he paced around the platform. “No body means  _ I’m _ still under Anise’s  _ thumb,” _ he spat, “and now all our intel is useless because there’s no sign of where he’s gone next.”

“It looks like Lazarus slipped away too,” Marjory cut in, climbing the stairs after Conlaeth, with Rytlock trailing behind. “We need to warn the queen that there’s a mursaat alive, even if… he does seem disinterested in Kryta.”

“So that is weird, right?” Rytlock asked. “Different from the last time they were sticking their creepy no-nose faces where they don’t belong.”

“I can’t help wondering just what a ‘virtuous pursuit’ is for him,” Conlaeth mused, earning a bitter chuckle from Rytlock. She glanced down into the arena again before turning to Canach, whose attention was fixed on some point out in the distance.

“Caudecus will want to hunt him down,” he said slowly, like he was working his way through the thought as he spoke. “He clearly doesn’t want to surrender control of the White Mantle, and Lazarus will probably be easier to track… so finding one could lead us to the other.”

“Then this sounds like a great start to the guild,” Rytlock offered, cracking his neck as his tail twitched in anticipation.

Conlaeth rolled her eyes. “A crisis, yeah, why not. At least this one seems  _ slightly _ less world-ending that Mordremoth.”

_ “Um, hello?” _ Conlaeth winced as Taimi’s voice broke into the conversation, instinctively feeling like she was about to receive more bad news. _ “Commander? Rytlock? Can you read me?” _

“Loud and clear kiddo,” she said. “And stop calling me that.”

_ “Soo… you  _ **_do_ ** _ prefer ‘Poobah?’” _

“No, I just- what do you have?”

_ “Well, something… possibly, slightly…  _ **_marginally_ ** _ … cataclysmic.” _

A slow, exasperated sigh escaped Conlaeth’s lips as Taimi hesitated, and the other three turned anxiously toward her. “Go on.”

_ “I finally managed to recalibrate the leyline map to get more detailed readings, and I’ve got a much better idea of what all the different movement means. There’s, um… one detail in particular that stands out…” _ She stopped again, clearly reluctant to deliver the actual news.

“Taimi, please.” Conlaeth urged, “I’m standing at the top of some crumbling human ruin miles above the ground caught in a net of loose bloodstone magic, and I’d like to start making my way back  _ soon _ if you would kindly tell me what’s on your mind.”

There was a puff of static through the communicator as Taimi sighed.  _ “Primordus is active.” _

 


End file.
